The BLTS Archive - Tapestry Two
Snowbound
by Unzadi (unzadi@aol.com)

---

Disclaimer:  Paramount owns everything and anything vaguely related to Star
Trek.  I'm just playing with stuff they never used.  Sarah Cromwell and other
original characters are mine.

---

As soon as she was fully materialised, Sarah inhaled sharply, allowing
the arctic air to bite at her lungs.  She glanced around at the
whiteness of it all; the knee-deep snow, the white dunf fur robes she
and her companions wore, and the heavy, ominous white of the clouds
above them. It was going to snow again, and soon, but that was normal
for Philemon Three. After the snow stopped,there would most likely be
another ice storm, and then the clouds would gather again. The cycle
never ended. They could travel in the snow, but not very far or fast,
and not at all in the ice storms.  There was no time to lose in
sightseeing. Not, of course, that there was much to see.

Sunlight glinted blue and silver off the shiny surface of the
snow-covered ground, turning each faceted ice crystal into an opal
prism.  It was difficult for Sarah to believe that somewhere under
that cold beauty was the place she would remember, too well, for the
rest of her life, but the reality refused to leave her mind.  She
focused on a depression in the snow,dotted with chunks of ice, where a
jagged shard of metal  protruded like a battered explorer's flag.  She
trudged towards it, her boots crunching through the top layer of ice.

She didn't need to touch the metal to know what it had been.  Nothing,
not her most fervent prayer or wildest fantasy could make her forget.
"Bloody marvellous," she crowed, surveying the immediate area.  Beyond
the shimmering expanse of snow, wild mountains rose in the distance.
"Made it this far, did I? So much for Romulan vigilance."  She
punctuated her comment with a rueful chuckle.  "Nice bit of work, this
was, though.  Have to give the Roms that much credit."

There were more crunching sounds as the rest of the landing party
advanced toward the crash site. "What have we got, Geordi?"  Riker's
deep voice echoed off the ice-covered mountains that surrounded them.

"Not much.  We've gotten just about everything we could from it the
first time, but maybe they can do a little better on board."  Geordi's
hand slipped into the front flap of his robe, to tap the communicator
hidden inside.  "All yours, O'Brien.  Whatever you can get of it," he
added in a whisper.

The small group stood still and watched as the remains of the shuttle
were taken up in the transporter beam.  Riker broke the silence.  "Any
life signs in the immediate area, Data?"

Data's tricorder swept in a wide arc around them.  "Animal only, sir.
There should be no threat. There is a pack of dunf approximately
thirty meters to the north-east.  They are stationary."

"They won't be for long," Sarah corrected, her voice sharp with
warning. "They're either eating or sleeping, and either way, they'll
be hungry soon. They'll be headed our way the minute they smell us,
and they'll be expecting a meal."

Geordi asked the question most of them were thinking.  "Do they expect
us to give them the meal, or *be*  the meal?"

"They'd prefer to share whatever food we might have with us," Sarah
explained, looking in the direction Data had indicated.  "But in a
pinch, we would do nicely."  She almost allowed herself a quiet laugh
at the irony of such a situation.  In the past six months, she'd
probably eaten more than a few of the pack's members.  They'd probably
like a chance to even the odds.  "Either way, I don't care to be near
them when their bellies need filling."

Riker registered the information.  "Right.  We'd better get moving.
We're going to need to stay in tight formation.  As soon as the next
ice storm hits, we're out of communication with the ship. Which way,
Data?"

Data's fingers flew over the surface of  his tricorder.  "Heat traces
would indicate that the shuttlepod was travelling in a north by
northeast direction," he informed them before helpfully pointing.
"That way."

Riker shook his head.  Data was unique, to say the least.  "That way
it is. Nearest shelter?"

"If we're where I think we are," Sarah began, one hand raised to
shield her eyes from the blinding brightness of the sun, "there's a
cave we should reach just before the ice storm hits. That is, of
course," she added, with an involuntary shudder.  "the dunfs don't
want a snack, or we don't run into any relatives who want to travel
with us.  Other clans who want to join us, we can politely refuse.
Other Berrek," she broke off, surprised at how easily the word *other*
rolled off her tongue.  Not just Berrek.  *Other* Berrek.  She
couldn't say that phrase again and keep her sanity.  "They have the
right to wander where we wander," she finished, her voice faint and
childlike.

Riker gave his instructions as quickly as possible, forming the
*Enterprise* officers into a facsimilie of a respectable Klevv
procession.  Taylor and Sabu would walk in front, with Eliva between
and slightly behind them.  Geordi, Sinclair, and Beverly would bring
up the rear , with Riker, Data and Sarah in the centre of the group,
for Sarah's maximum protection.

No rank would be used in addressing any member of the party, and if
the cover names happened to be forgotten, the general address of
"Companion"  would do for any of them.   Riker reminded everyone to
pace themselves, so they would make as much progress as possible
without running the risk of exhaustion. In this cold, stopping could
be, and often was, deadly.

With instructions complete, they started off, in formation.  Riker
slung his pack over one shoulder, wishing he could have talked
Governor Anderson into lending them at least a pair of dunfs.  It
would have been more comfortable to let them carry some of the load,
and should Sarah prove less hardy than her tests had declared, the
animals wouldn't mind such a light passenger.

He shifted the pack so that a particularly sharp protrusion no longer
threatened to puncture the small of his back, but which caused
something hard and lumpy to settle in its place.  The improvement was
negligible.  Swallowing a less than polite word regarding the
governor's dubious parentage, he reminded himself that obtaining dunfs
would have been extremely inadvisable.  Clan loyalties, as Sarah had
reminded him, transcended philosophical differences among Philemites.
The Berrek were one of the larger clans, and it was essential that the
away team's presence go unremarked.  The borrowed dunfs would have had
to come from somewhere, and there would have been questions.

Riker had enough questions of his own.  For one thing, he wanted to
know how much further it was before they found that cave Sarah had
mentioned.  Affording her a quick glance, he noticed that she didn't
seem to be tiring, as he'd thought she might.  He'd been surprised
that Beverly had certified Sarah fit to accompany them, and even more
than a little disappointed.   Still, he accepted it.  Sarah very
seldom did the expected.  It was one of the reasons she'd advanced as
quickly as she had in Starfleet.  She'd make Lieutenant Commander for
this, at the least, and probably get a medal or two in the bargain, he
wagered.

Judging from her pace and posture, Riker thought that Sarah actually
seemed to be enjoying the exercise.  After the close confinement
she'd described, being able to walk around outside must feel like
heaven, or at least something close to it.  She was doing as well as
the rest of them, he assessed, tuning in to her conversation with
Data.

At the moment, Sarah and the android were discussing Veklad Rhu'gesh
and his influence on Klevv philosophy.  Riker had tried to follow the
discussion, but gave up what seemed like hours ago.  Instead, he
listened to the play of the voices against each other as every sound
was magnified in the unsettling silence.  Data's voce was mechanical
and steady, no different from his normal everyday tone.  In contrast,
Sarah's was almost musical in its precise soft rhythm and distinctly
British pronunciations.

Maybe, when all of this was over, and they were all back on the
blessedly warm *Enterprise*, he'd take her back to New Orleans.  Of
course, it would only be a holodeck simulation, but he intended to pay
very little attention to his surroundings.  He planned to focus only
on his lovely companion, especially if he could entice her back to
Papa Henri's.   The thought caused him to quicken his step.  *New
Orleans, French Quarter, Hotel Bouchard... *  He rehearsed the
specifications for the program.  This time, everything was going to be
right.

*Summer, early afternoon, heavy rain.*    He couldn't remember, for
the life of him, the name of the band, or exactly what the subject of
their bet had been, but he hadn't forgotten the look on Sarah's face
when he insisted she get on the stage and sing the next song with the
musicians.   She hadn't been half bad, he recalled, hearing again the
sweet strains of a perfectly tuned piano. Blondes and jazz didn't
often mix, but short...no, petite British blondes were another animal
entirely.

No, he qualified as he trudged on, there was only one exception to the
rule. The same one who had just referred to the Klevv's most ancient
and revered philosopher as a *Gawdelups*.  Riker was sure Data would
be rifling through all of his language banks for a translation.  He
wouldn't find one, unless he broke the syllables down into distinct
words.  *God help us*, Riker translated silently.  It meant idiot.  In
Cockney. Someday, Data would have to hear it spoken around a
hand-rolled cigar.

Definitely, the woman crunching through the snow beside him was no
child.  She didn't need fussing over, and wouldn't appreciate any.
Plenty of other women might, but not Sarah.  If she'd gotten this far,
she'd make it the rest of the way, if only on resolve alone.  She had
to; they couldn't do this without her. If she was strong enough to
hotwire a Romulan shuttle, acclimate herself to heat and light, view
her father's message, and still volunteer to lead them back to the
Romulan compound, she didn't need a babysitter.

Riker wondered if that was what he'd planned on doing.  Sarah had been
through hell,and she was only human.  Sooner or later she was going
to... *Cut it out, Riker.  Would you act like this if it were Geordi?
No.  O'Brien?  No.  So cut it out, okay?*

Thwack!  The cold, hard object made a decisive impact with the back of
Riker's head, pulling his hood away.  He whirled about, his pack
falling to the ground as he instinctively reached for the concealed
phaser at his waist.  He called an abrupt halt to the procession, a
second before his eyes locked with those of his assailant.  Sarah was
already preparing another frozen missile, but her wide violet eyes
held a near-believable look of innocence.

"I had to do something," she offered in explanation.  "You were
looking far too stern.  Klevv are supposed to take pleasure in their
wanderings; it's Mykba's command.  I didn't think you wanted to anger
the local deity."

Riker grunted.  "That may be, but there are other ways of getting my
attention."  He gave her his most intimidating glare, then bent down
to scoop up a generous handful of snow.

---

The snow came down heavier now, and light was fading.  Any tension
they'd relieved was back, creeping up on the away team like the
darkness did.  Sarah knew that she'd had feet at one time, but she
couldn't feel them anymore.  That was probably a good thing,
considering how far they'd walked in the short time they'd been
planetside.  Looking at the darkening horizon, she shivered.  The
darker it got,the sooner they could expect the ice storm.

She plodded on, concentrating on the crunch of her boots through the
frozen top layer of snow. There really wasn't any reason to worry about
speed; they were still within the protective circle of the mountains,
and unlikely to run into much trouble.  The dunfs, thank God, seemed
to have found something more appetising than the away team's rations,
and hadn't yet put in an appearance. *Yet*  was the operative word.
Sarah thought she'd heard the dunfs' sharp barks and howls not too far
away.

The formation they had started in was much more relaxed now, and more
likely to pass for a true procession when that need arose.  All they
were lacking were dunfs and children, but the violent ice storms could
explain those losses all too easily.  To the nomadic Klevv, death and
loss were members of the family.

Sabu, Sarah noticed, had fallen into step beside Eliva.  At least
Sarah thought it was Sabu.  If she remembered correctly, he was just a
bit taller, but more slender than Taylor, and carried his pack slung
over his left shoulder instead of his right.   The smaller,
musclebound man, Taylor himself, if the first man were indeed Sabu,
kept on course, straight ahead, and hadn't even bothered to talk to
anyone for quite some time.

Willie was on one side of her, Data on the other.  She could still
hear three different sets of boots crunching along behind her, so
everyone was still there, by her count.  Losing members of one's party
in a storm like this was devilishly easy.  Klevv parents raised their
children on cautionary tales about those who strayed from the
procession, never to be found again, forever buried beneath the
ever-higher mounds of ice and snow, unprotected from Mykba's wrath.

Morbidly, Sarah wondered how many bodies there truly were beneath the
snow. She knew of one.  *So terribly sorry, lovedy.  I did try, you
know.  I had to get us out; it was for both of us, not just me.  I
wanted you out, too.  I would have loved to have held you... Bloody
Roms.*

Four faces sprung to terrible life before her eyes, faces she wished
she could delete from her memory.  *No, Cromwell, you're not going to
give in.  You're out of this.  Giving in means they win.*  They can't
win.    She inhaled another blast of lung-freezing air, tasting the
sharp cold of the snowflakes on her tongue, willing herself to think
of being a little girl who'd caught snowflakes like that, at play.
When it was safe, when it was a game.  It was safe now, wasn't it?
She blinked hard and shook her head to clear it of the confusion.  The
action sent her dunf fur hood sliding off.

"All right, that's it."  The female voice came from behind, sending
Sarah's heart pounding in a wild rhythm.

She felt slender, gloved hands pulling her hood back up over her
coiled hair, arranging the fur about her face.  She blinked again.
The faces were gone now, and all she could see was the endless,
blinding white.  There were hands, strong, broad hands, on her
shoulders, on her legs.  She bucked against them, her hands curled
into lethal claws as she lashed out.  *Not again!*

The female voice was back.  "Let go of her.  Eliva, Sinclair, help me
get her inside."  The hands on her were still strong, but gentle in
their grip.  "Let's give her some room.  I'll need the hypo."

Sarah steeled herself for what was to come next.  She still saw only
the unrelieved white, but she didn't need to see, didn't want to see
anything.  The corridor would be next, then the room with the table.
There, she'd find the straps and the lights, and whatever humiliation
they had planned for her this time.  There would be questions, too
many questions.  She resisted the hands guiding her down to the
ground, twisting her neck away so that finding her jugular would be
difficult.  If she couldn't manage impossible, she'd give them
difficult.

A flash of greyish metal sliced through the white of Sarah's world.
Had they finished that quickly?  It was too much to hope for; of
course they hadn't. These things went beyond forever, every time,
again and again.  The tip of the metal object was coming towards her,
intent on its course, like a trained missile.  She could almost swear
she heard her own blood pounding through her veins. Maybe she did; she
didn't trust anything that happened when they were around.

*Give no aid. Give no aid.  Do whatever the bloody hell you're going
to do, but you're not getting a bloody thing out of me.  Give no aid.
Give no aid.* She set the order to the beat of her racing heart,
biting down on her tongue until she tasted her own blood.

The metal was touching her now, but instead of the searing pain she'd
prepared herself for, there was only a subtle warmth circulating
through her body.  Was this something new?

She cursed herself, knowing she should be accustomed to such tricks by
now. Whenever the pain came, or the burning, or the images, she'd be
ready.  *Give no aid...*

Male hands were on her again, only one set now.  Only one.  That was
better than all four at once.  One set was over more quickly than
four.  One was easier to remember afterwards, easier to imagine what
she wanted to do to him afterwards.  Easier to imagine smashing one
nose up into one brain. *Which one?*  She picked out an intricate
orange pattern slicing through the white of a Philemite face, and a
pair of pink eyes riveted on hers.

She allowed herself to relax slightly, but remained alert.  Just
because the natives hadn't before didn't mean they wouldn't now...
She focused on the features, needing to remember each one so that if
she ever got out of this hell...

"Brit!"

That wasn't right.  That voice didn't belong here.  She knew all the
voices that belonged here, both Romulan and Philemite.  She knew all
too well every accent, every inflection, every impediment.  The
morning guard dragged his vowels, and the one who brought the food had
harsh consonants. The one who brought her back from the table room had
a chronic cough.  This was none of them.   The voice could have been
Willie's.  It wasn't going to work.  No matter how much she'd wished
for him, Willie wasn't there.

"Brit, it's me."

Tossing suddenly, she managed to wrench one hand free, and lunged
upwards, grabbing a handful of the Klevv's beard.  She tugged until,
with a sharp yowl of pain, he released her, the portion of beard she
held coming away with her. Springing to her feet, Sarah bolted,
running straight into another Klevv.

Before this one could grab her, she dropped to the ground once more,
rolling to the side.  When the roll was completed, she came to her
feet in a smooth motion, wondering what the hard thing was that seemed
to be strapped to her hip.  Her free had closed around the familiar
shape of a phaser. That didn't belong, either.

It was a *Starfleet*  phaser.  It wasn't hers, though; it couldn't be.
They'd taken it from her, first thing, breaking her wrist in the
process.  Nobody was trying to take this phaser, though, she realised.
Unable to make sense of anything, Sarah simply stared at the phaser,
not attempting to maintain her hold when a gloved hand motioned for
her to give it up.  There was no demand, only request.  She let the
weapon slip from her fingers.

Hands under her arms were lowering her into a sitting position,
gently, slowly, more hands supporting her head.  It felt heavy, as if
all the thoughts and images had tangible weight.   She shrugged the
hands away from her head as her vision began to clear.  The lights she
saw were dim, not the bright, harsh lights of the table room; the
sources too small and irregularly spaced to be what she'd expected.
From far off, she heard the unsteady pinging sound of ice hitting...
stone?

"That's right," the female voice soothed.  "Slow down.  Just breathe.
It's all right.  You're safe." Someone pushed a loose lock of hair
away from her mouth. "Do you know where you are?"

The voice wasn't Klevv, nor was it Romulan.  The features were somehow
familiar, but didn't belong here.  Ignoring the voice, Sarah
concentrated on her tactile senses.  Stone.  She was sitting on stone,
not metal, not the too-thin padding of the table.  Now that she wasn't
paying attention to the voice, she was able to put a name to the
strangeness of it, why it didn't fit. "Standard?"

"Yesss.  We are ssspeaking Ssstandard."  The voice was female, with a
heavy sibilant S.  The accent sounded Andorian, but the speaker had
learned Standard on Earth.

Sarah squinted against the bright light shining in her eyes.  The
person looking at her couldn't be Klevv.  The accent was definitely
Andorian, and she could see...antennae?  Definitely an Andorian.  She
knew this Andorian.  Was it Derl?  No, Derl was dead.  This was a
female.

"Elisa?"

"Good enough.  That's as close as she's going to get for a while,
trust me." This voice was male, deep in timbre, and resonated with
authority.  "Do you recognise me?"

Sarah found it hard to concentrate, but forced herself to look beyond
the colouring.  This face, she did know.  The man, who she knew for a
fact was not Klevv, had a hand on her arm.  She was allowing it. His
breath felt pleasantly warm against her ear.  He'd called her *Brit.*

"Willie."  Something was being held to her lips.

"Drink this," he ordered.

Sarah pressed her lips tightly together.  She wasn't taking anything
 from them. No, she had to. For the child, but there wasn't any child.
 Not anymore.  A finger stroked her cheek, as if by accident.  She
 knew that touch.  It was his touch, Willie's touch.  The Roms
 couldn't duplicate that.

She gulped down the liquid without tasting it, only feeling the wet
heat it brought as it slid down her throat.  Air and liquid came at
once, causing her to hiccough.  The reaction startled her, making her
inhale some of the fluid. As though that weren't enough, the bile in
Sarah's stomach rose to meet the water. Both came up in a violent
retch that drove her to her knees.

Finally, her stomach empty, everything settled.  Sarah sat back from
the foul-smelling puddle in front of her, and wiped her mouth with the
back of her glove.  Her head still spun as she looked at the complex
designs of the Klevv cave paintings around her.

Bright colours seemed to dance across the dull surface of the cave
walls, the crude figures seeming like nightmare shadows.  They were
only pictures, she knew, and posed no real or immediate danger.
Still, her heart pounded as though those who had left the drawings
still surrounded her.  *Bugger all.*

The flask was back again, the hand holding it seeming as though it
didn't feel Sarah's attempt to push it away.  "Try some more."

She drank again, slower this time.  Slowly, that was it.  Slow down.
She concentrated on slowing her breaths gradually, each one taking
just a bit more time than the last.  *One, one-two, one-two-three...*
She took one last swallow, allowing the water to trickle down her
throat, all the way to her stomach.  This, she promised herself, would
stay.  "Thank you."

Beverly waved a tricorder in a slow arc about Sarah's head, then keyed
a few buttons and handed the instrument to Eliva.  "It looks like
you've had a flashback," the doctor guessed.  "Do you feel up to
talking about it?"

*Rather not, if it's all the same,* Sarah thought, wiping her mouth
again, this time with the other glove.  She scraped the dirty one
against a rock as she tried to trace her thought pattern back to
whatever had keyed the flashback. "I was looking at the snow, and then
I was thinking about how the Klevv warn their children against
straying from the procession.  They tell them stories about how the
ice storms come so suddenly that it's dastardly simple to get lost
and..." her voice cracked.  "And buried."

"Guess it's the Klevv version of the boogeyman," Geordi ventured.

"One might say so."  Sarah took a second to moisten her lips.  "Or
Mother Goose.  There's not much difference between the two in those
stories."  Even after the drink, her mouth felt dry.  She looked to
Riker, drawing strength from the concern in his eyes.  "It made me
think of...the child. They said they'd...that they'd taken...outside,"
she finished, unable to voice anything further.  *You're not going to
cry, Cromwell.  You're not.  That's an order.  A court-martial
offence, for that matter.*

Outside?  Riker tried to make sense of it.  He busied himself by
closing the flask he'd given to Sarah and putting it back in the pack.
His first instinct was to forget all about whatever had caused her to
be frightened and just hold her.  He knew Sarah was more upset than
she was letting on.  That was her way. Her gut might be going
supernova, but ask her how she was, and she'd say she was fine.

Maybe, he thought, as he pretended to inventory his pack, he should
have asked Deanna on the landing party after all.  She might have been
able to see when Sarah was starting to remember. Maybe she could have
spared Sarah the worst of it.  Even a little would have helped.

He tried to get his mind on the mission at hand.  Several pairs of
pink-tinged eyes and one silvery-bright VISOR were trained on him,
waiting for instructions.  He rose from his seat slowly, and began to
pace off towards the cave entrance.  As he walked, the unsteady
pounding of the ice against the outside of the cave brought his
thoughts back to Sarah.  As if they'd gone far from her.  *Why would
the Romulans put the body of a miscarried child outside?*

He didn't think for a minute that the father of  Sarah's child bore
any tenderness for the offspring of his violence, but it still didn't
fit. Disposing of the corpse in any number of other ways would have
been more efficient; cleaner, and just as quick.  Less of a risk of
discovery, as well, which was the most important thing to anyone in
hiding.

Riker fingered the thick white fur of his robe as he drew it closer
about him. *Dunfs.  Never assume a dunf isn't hungry... In a pinch, we
would do nicely...Damn.*  He slammed a fist against the icy cave wall.

The ice storm made the blizzards he'd seen in Alaska seem like the
middle of July.  These things could last for hours, even the better
part of a day, and it wasn't uncommon for them to go past twenty-four
hours.  That was fine for the natives, who were used to it, but for
Riker, who had to plan some order in the middle of one of those
storms, it stunk.   Any tracks the landing party had made before, deep
as they were, would be filled by now.  He didn't imagine many Klevv
children strayed.  Certainly never more than once.

He turned from the entrance.  "Any signs of life, Data?"

---

Data's reply was almost instantaneous.  "No sentient life.  I am
picking up various forms of vegetation and microscopic bacteria.  The
vegetation is most likely edible.  According to my findings, it
contains nothing toxic to humans. Or Andorians," he added, with a nod
in Eliva's direction as he cross-referenced the list of toxins in his
memory banks.

If Data had  mentioned food, that meant they were going to be there
for a while.  It was best to give everybody something to do, and
Data's suggestion was as good as any.  "Feeling up to a little work,
Cromwell?"

"Aye, sir," she replied quickly, her voice showing no sign of the past
few minutes.  Her face, though, was a different story.  Sarah didn't
have the artificial albino colouring to conceal the dark circles under
her eyes, or the greyish-green tinge that still clung to her skin.
*Thank you,*  Riker could read in her silence.

He flashed her a smile.  "Great."  He stroked his beard while he
contemplated the three tunnels visible from where they stood.
Exploration seemed like a relatively safe option.  It occurred to him
to ask Deanna if she sensed anything, but Deanna was still on the
*Enterprise,* so that was out.

"Okay," he said at last, "Taylor, Sabu, Riss, take the passage on the
left and see what you can find.  La Forge, Crusher and Sinclair, take
the right.  Data, start down the centre.  Cromwell and I will catch up
with you in a few minutes. Everyone keep Mr. Data apprised of your
activities, especially if you find anything interesting.  There's no
telling how long we'll be here, so keep an eye out for potential food
sources.  We'll meet here in one hour and compare notes."

Riker watched them split off into the assigned groups.  He wondered
how long he'd been tapping one foot impatiently, and if anyone had
noticed.  *Nervous mannerisms don't do much for the command presence.*

As the others were swallowed by the darkness of the tunnels, Riker sat
next to Sarah again. "Take your time," he urged her.  "We don't have
to rush anything." Her breathing was a little too rapid for his
liking.

Sarah nodded her relief.  "Thank you, sir."

Riker tapped her  chin lightly.  "Hey, I don't see anyone else around.
You can drop the 'sir,' okay? This isn't the *Hood.*  Nobody's going
to report us."

She managed a bit of a smile.  "Thank you, Willie," she amended.  "I'd
like to get to things as soon as possible.  Sitting about here,
waiting for the storm to end, would drive me balmy in minutes."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently kneading at the muscles
there.  "I'll put you to work soon enough, Brit.  Don't worry about
that.  It's a promise. Right now, I want to make sure you're fit for
duty."

"That would be your doctor's job"

"She's not here.  Indulge me."  He could feel Sarah's tension easing
as her muscles relaxed beneath his touch.  "I just thought it might be
easier for you to talk without an audience.  That is, if you want to,"
he qualified, not wanting her to think he was prying.  His eyes
searched her face for some indication of what she was thinking.

Sarah looked away from him, at the colours of the cave paintings.  "I
don't know what came over me.  I'd promise it wouldn't happen again,
but as we saw..."

"As we saw, you've got one heck of a grip."  He rubbed the spot on his
chin that was still smarting. "Finding the Klevv you encountered
shouldn't be too hard; we'll look for the ones with the bruises and
the bald spots in their beards."

Sarah's eyes widened.  "Terribly sorry.  Did I do you much damage?"
Her eyes darted to the extension she still clutched in one hand.
She'd forgotten about that.

He made a show of searching for a bare patch.  A quick exploration
told him that Sarah had taken only the extension.  "Nothing
permanent."

"Good.  Did you want this back, or might I keep it as a souvenir?"
Sarah held out the extension, and, at Riker's indication, folded it
into a pocket on her robe.  She rested her chin in both hands, hooking
the small finger of her left hand over her lower lip.

Riker knew that look.  Sarah was busy composing a picture.  If she was
thinking about art, she was doing just fine.  He looked behind him, to
see what cave painting it was that had captured her imagination.  His
guess narrowed it down to the mating dunfs and what looked to be like
some sort of celebration.

"How long have you had it?"

"Huh?" Riker turned back to face her.

She still had her fingertip between her teeth, a sure sign of artistic
concentration.  "The beard. How long have you had it?"

"About a year."  *Accept it now, Riker.  She's going to make you sit
for her.* "If I have to be your model again, do I at least get breaks
this time?"

"If you behave yourself and don't fidget."  Sarah cocked her head
first to one side, and then the other.  "I still have the glove on,
don't I?"  She pulled the finger out of her mouth and scowled. "Dunf
fur is not a delicacy, believe me.  The rest of the dunf isn't much
better, for that matter." She wiped the glove against her robe.  "I
like it.  The beard, I mean.  Not the dunfs or their bloody fur.  They
can both go to blazes for all I care.  The beard is nice, though.
Very nice.  I always thought it would be.  Can't imagine why you
didn't start one sooner."

An extremely pleasant memory came back to him.  "I almost did," he
confessed, one hand passing thoughtfully over his chin.  "On the
*Hood,* during your cadet cruise, as a matter of fact. It was after
the incident with the, ah," he paused, giving Sarah the same playful
grin he'd favoured her with back then.

"One and only poker game you ever let me play in," she finished for
him, allowing the memory to warm her as well.  "I remember.  It was
one of the things I thought about, sometimes."  Sarah paused, her
voice shaking as she looked past Riker.  "You said I was counting
cards, but I wasn't.  I said I couldn't forget which  cards I'd
already seen, and therefore what was still in the deck."

Riker laughed at the memory of his reaction.  "You beat me.  What else
was I supposed to think?  I can't believe we celebrated that long."
He watched the slow, distant smile spread across Sarah's face. "What?"

A twitch of amusement played across her lips.  "The way you jumped
when my clock rang, and you realised what time it was."

"That clock might have given me permanent hearing loss."

Sarah shook her head, her expression unchanged.  "Liar.  That clock
was a gift from my Grandmum.  It's a family heirloom.  Besides, you
never objected to it before then."

"That's because I'd never fallen asleep on your couch before then," he
said. "That thing could wake the dead."

Sarah's light laugh echoed off the cave walls.  "Only if the deceased
had met his demise at the hands of a bottle of Saurian brandy.   Need
I remind you who had to get you into proper form to report for duty?"

Riker held up both hands  in surrender.  "All right. Guilty.  Do I
still have to apologise, or is the statute of limitations past?"

"All things considered, it's past.  If you can pardon me for not
taking your reprimand with a straight face."  She stopped, closing her
eyes to concentrate. "I wouldn't have been late to my station if it
weren't for..."

"Hey," Riker interrupted.  "I thought we weren't going to talk about
that again.  I still have my throat, barely, and we still have our
careers.  The worst  damage was a few rumours."

Sarah opened her eyes, blinking to readjust to the light of the
present. "There were a lot of rumours.  According to half the ship, we
were having some mad, passionate affair."

Riker couldn't suppress a huge grin.  He remembered well the looks
he'd gotten, both dirty and otherwise, coming out of Midshipman
Cromwell's quarters.  Most times, he'd been unshaven, and in the
previous day's uniform, nearly running to his own quarters so he could
make himself presentable and still be on time for bridge duty.  "I'm
sorry.  It wasn't easy."

"No," Sarah echoed.  "It wasn't.  Especially," she paused for a deep
breath. "The investigation."

Riker could feel their previous light mood vanish under the swift
strike of Sarah's words.  "I hated it, too."  He reached for her hand,
giving it a single, reassuring squeeze before continuing. "Captain
DeSoto knew we were only talking.  I had to give him details, though."

"Like what?"  Her voice was distant, worrying him.

"Ferret legging, for one thing.  I was asked exactly what we were
talking about on a particular night, and I had to outline the entire
sport of ferret legging."  He chuckled.  "The binders, the ferrets
down the pants... excuse me, *trousers*, the endurance factor.  I even
offered to call up a holo of your uncle's championship trophy."

Sarah cocked her head, her pale golden eyebrows arching in skepticism.
"You didn't."

"No, I didn't," he admitted. "It wasn't necessary.  Captain DeSoto
decided that nobody who had been up all night, involved in," he paused
to recall their former commander's exact words.  "In intimate
activity, as he put it, could possibly be able to make all that up on
the spot.  He did have his own theory, although I don't think you'd
like to hear it."

Sarah wasn't so sure.  "Maybe. What was it?"

"A bunch of drunken  Englishmen."

She thought for a second.  "He's probably right.  Middle tunnel, you
said?" Sarah sprang from their seat and started off.

Riker wasn't far behind.  "Not so fast, Lieutenant."

Sarah stopped and turned around, her eyes holding the same look of
disbelief they had years ago, when she'd discovered that Cadet Riker
had spent three hours in a water closet, believing it to be a library.
"I thought you didn't want rank when it was just the two of us."

He took a cautious step towards her.  "I don't."

"But you just..."

"I just did what I would have done with any other member of an away
team." *Liar.*  "It's my job to make sure you only carry out those
duties you're capable of performing."

Sarah crossed her arms mutinously in front of her.  "And you don't
think I'm up to busy work?"

"I didn't say that."  *Not in so many words.*  "I just want to make
sure you don't overexert yourself."

"If I may speak freely, sir?"  She waited for his nod.  "That is your
doctor's job, as I've said before, or your counsellor's, if you're
concerned with my mental state.  My job is to follow your orders.  The
last order of yours that I recall is that you wanted me to accompany
you and Mr Data in exploring the centre tunnel.  Did I miss anything
further?"

Riker smiled.  No, Sarah hadn't missed any further orders.  Her memory
was almost as good as Data's.  *Data.*    She'd gotten the android's
name right. That made alien and android names she could remember, but
human names were seemingly beyond her reach, crowded out by everything
else she'd taken in, or had poured down her.

She was still looking at him.  He knew that look, and knew that when
it was directed at a subordinate, it could be every bit as
intimidating as his own patented glare.  "I'm not saying you aren't
fit for duty."

"Thank you, sir."

He glared back.

A flicker of frustration played across her classically British
features, a hint of royal disdain.  "I haven't gone crackers."

"I know," Riker allowed, his voice soft.

"Then what is it?"

He squared his shoulders.  "You've been through a very traumatic..."

Sarah turned her back, with a huff.  "Now you're sounding like that
 counsellor. The Betazoid."

"The Betazoid?  What was her name again?"  Riker hoped Sarah would
pick up on the teasing tone in his voice.  From the stiffness of her
posture, it didn't seem likely.

"Troi.  Diana Troi."  Sarah's tone was crisp, each word brittle with
distaste.

Riker's grin faded away.  He'd baited her, and he regretted it.  'I'm
sorry."

"For what?"

*All of it.*  "I shouldn't have brought up...I mean I didn't mean
to..."  His voice trailed off, as he knew he didn't have the right
words.  *Smooth, Riker, real smooth.*

Sarah turned back to face him, her expression one of practised calm.
"You needn't apologise for whatever it is you're trying to apologise
for."

Riker let out a long breath.  *Yes, I do.  I had no business
mentioning Deanna to you in those letters.  You were a kid.  You
didn't need to know any of that. I thought you were just Arthur's
sister...If I'd known you...that what I felt...Brit, do I have to come
out and say it?  I guess it took Derl to make me realise, and by
then...* "Forget it."

She shrugged.  "Gladly."  She cast an anxious glance at the centre
tunnel. "Don't you think we should be joining Mr Data?"

Sarah did have a point.  *Later, Brit, I promise.*  "Soon.  Data can
do just fine on his own for a few minutes."

"So can I."

So she could.  "Are you sure you don't need a few more minutes to
rest?"

"No, sir...Willie."

That brought a wide grin.  "Sir Willie?"  He made a sweeping bow.
She could still blush, he noticed.  "After you, my lady."

---

Riker reached inside the front flap of his robe to tap his
communicator. "Riker to Data."  There was no response.  He tried
again.  Still nothing.  He swallowed an expletive.  Nothing.  He gave
up.  "Try yours."

Sarah slid her hand inside her robe.  "Cromwell to Data."  The sound
 was wrong. She frowned. "It's no use.  The communicators aren't
 working."

"What do you mean, they aren't working?"

"Listen."  She tapped the communicator once more.  "Cromwell to
Riker."

Riker listened for his own communicator's answering beep.  There was
nothing. He pulled the device away from his robes and held it in the
palm of his hand. He gave it one final experimental tap, although he
knew what the end result would be.  Nothing.  "Wonderful."

There was a moment of silence between them, the only sound being the
repetitive, erratic pelting of ice against rock.  "I wonder what else
doesn't work," Riker finally said.

Sarah was already working a test sequence on her tricorder.
"Tricorder's working.  At least we have that much."

"Good.  We should test the phasers.  Pick a target."

Taking a few seconds to see what could best withstand even a mild
blast, Sarah chose her target carefully.  "That rock, over there.
The one all by itself, about five meters straight ahead."

At Riker's nod, they both directed slender blasts of energy at the
rock until it glowed white-hot. "It's only the communicators," Riker
mused aloud, resetting his phaser and concealing it.  "Let's not waste
the heat," he suggested, moving toward the glowing stone.

Sarah concealed her own weapon and joined him.  The rock they'd heated
would continue to warm them for quite some time.  She was grateful for
that, although she knew she wouldn't be able to take much of the heat.
It was too much, too soon.   She sat as closely as she could, needing
time to think.   The knowledge that they were unable to communicate
with the rest of the away team unnerved her.  It was too much like the
last time she'd taken shelter in an ice storm.

She looked at Riker, careful not to betray the slight anxiety that had
started to take shape in her mind.  He was stroking his beard again, a
gesture which she assumed indicated deep thought. It suited him.
"Commander?"

Riker looked up, caught in the middle of a possibility.  "We'll have
to assume the others are unable to contact us as well."  He hated when
things like this happened.  Was it too much to ask just to be able to
get in there, find the Romulan compound, dismantle whatever it was
they'd been building, turn the Klevv over to the local authority,
even if it was a paper-pusher like Anderson, and...  Of course it was.
Time for Plan B.

What *was* Plan B?  Riker suddenly felt like he was back at the
Academy, taking one of the dreaded simulations.  *Okay, Cadet, what do
you do when your away team is split into three different parties, none
of which can communicate with the others?  Factor in the possibility
of carnivorous animals and Romulan activity in the near vicinity.  You
have twenty minutes.  Begin.* He could see the old Vulcan instructor
standing over him.  He did the only thing any good commander would do
in the same situation.

"Recommendations, Lieutenant?"

Sarah had drawn her knees up to her chin, and scooted back from the
source of the heat.  "I see that we have two options.  We can either
continue our exploration, and keep an eye, or in this case, tricorder,
out for the rest of our companions, or we could return to the mouth of
the cave and wait for them to do the same.  That choice, of course, is
contingent upon their knowledge of our communications status."  She
paused, watching the heat from the stone play across the strange
colouring of Riker's face, making him look like something from
Philemite mythology.   "If they haven't attempted communication, they
will return to the cave's entrance in approximately thirty minutes."

Riker sat back.  That much, he could have gotten from Data.  Sarah was
doing just what he'd expected she'd do: try and act as though this
were just any other mission.  It was one of her best masks, and she
wore it well.   It might not fit him all that badly, he considered.
Sarah might appreciate it if he followed her example.    There was the
rest of the away team to consider.

Part of him wanted to believe they would all be there when they
regrouped. Regrouped.  That was a decision.  Good.  Another part of
him wanted to assume the worst.  A lot could happen in a situation
like this one.  It was entirely possible that they'd find their way to
the Romulan compound the hard way, complete with Romulan escort.

Riker stood.  "We'll take some scans of the immediate area, and
attempt to regroup."

"Aye, sir."  Sarah began scooping up handfuls of the loose gravel that
covered the cave floor, and poured them over the rock.  Best if we
don't leave too many clues."

"Good idea."  Riker agreed, taking another look around.  Tiny puffs of
vapour accompanied the slight hiss as the gravel, and the ice crystals
that clung to it, hit the heated rock.  Riker watched it intently, as
if it might bring some answers.  It didn't.  He turned his attention
back to the cave walls.

Some of the cave paintings were self-explanatory, records of scenes
from everyday life among the Klevv.  Each of the Klevv figures
represented was depicted in painstaking detail.  Riker was sure that
anyone who knew a specific clan would be able to pick out the
individuals in each line. "Cromwell, take a look at these faces.  See
if you can find any Berrek."

Finished with the rock, Sarah took a position along the opposite wall,
and ran her fingers along the markings.  "The top row of paintings is
the most recent. Berrek have been here, but not for a while.  About
four or five months ago, I'd say."  She took a step to the side,
following the direction of the painting. "There was a birth, a male
child.  They lost two dunfs in  a storm, but gained four when a woman
from the Ugeb clan married one of their men."  The tone of her
narrative changed as she made a new discovery.  "That's odd."

"What?"

Sarah double-checked her suspicion before saying anything else.  "The
Ugeb have been here twice.  They don't normally do that."

As little as Riker knew about the Klevv, Sarah's observation set off a
yellow alert in his mind. "Show me."

Sarah indicated two separate lines of paintings.  "See right here on
top?  This is the most recent visit by the Ugeb; they're the ones with
the blue.  Down here, coinciding with the Berrek, here they are
again."

"Again?  I thought you said the top row is the most recent."

"It is.  I was looking there first.  This top painting is only two
weeks old. Paint dries very quickly in this climate.  Besides, the
colour is too bright for the date they gave to be accurate.  I
wouldn't expect to see them, though. They were headed for..."  Sarah's
voice dropped abruptly.  "Dunf." She crouched and picked up a tuft of
white fur.  Slowly, she lifted the tuft to her face. Taking a deep
whiff of the fur, she tossed it back down.  "This didn't come from our
robes.  It's fresh."

*Great.  Just great.*  Riker took out his tricorder and made a wide
 arc.  Dunf. Exactly what they needed.  He didn't like this one bit.
 "I'm not picking up..."

A distinctly human scream cut him off.  He pulled his phaser and
motioned for Sarah to do the same.  He didn't hear anything else after
the scream, which gave him a very unprofessional case of the shivers.

---

Back on board the Enterprise,  Captain Jean-Luc Picard swivelled
around in his chair and looked at his fish.  Livingston swam around
his bowl in ignorant bliss, and Picard envied him.   "I don't like
this," he stated.  "Tell me again, Chief.  I want to make sure I
understand what you're saying."

Miles O'Brien took a breath to steady himself before reporting.  At
the moment, he felt exactly like he had the time Sister Mary Benedict
had caught him with a goldfish bowl at the holy water font.  It didn't
matter that he'd been taking the goldfish *out*, not putting it in.
That had been Michael Burke, and over twenty years ago.   This wasn't
his fault, either.  He swallowed again.  "I believe the shuttle had
cloaking capability, sir."

Picard turned to face O'Brien.  "Cloaking capability?  How?"

"I'm not sure, sir.  There was precious little left of the shuttle,
and we weren't able to transport all of the remains."  He would have
felt more comfortable with La Forge there to help explain things. The
only explanations O'Brien had at the moment were extremely speculative
and extremely technical. Fortunately, Picard seemed to accept that
they were still trying.

"Do you have any theories as to the power source? " Picard asked
through steepled fingers.

That, O'Brien could answer.  "For the cloaking device?  Aye, sir.
From what we were able to recover, we believe the power source to be
of native Philemite origin."

Picard nodded, adding the information to what he already had.  "Can
you tell me anything more?"

O'Brien's own frustration was evident.  "Nothing definite, I'm afraid.
When the ice storm is over, we can beam up some indigenous rock and
crystal samples. The power source seems to be crystalline in
structure," he explained, trying to give Picard what he needed,
without getting into the technical specifics of it.  "We're trying to
get some impressions about the shuttle.  We may have enough to make a
rough diagram, but it would be more of a guess than anything else."

"Thank you, Chief.  I have every confidence you'll be able to give us
something concrete to go on."  Picard was silent a moment, weighing a
thought.  "Would it be possible to reconstruct, if not the entire
shuttle, then at least the power source, holographically?"

Picard's suggestion was something O'Brien had thought of already, but
had wanted to wait before proposing.  It would help greatly if they
knew exactly what sort of crystal was powering the cloaking device,
instead of having to search through the thousands of varieties native
to Philemon Three.

"Aye, sir, it would.  We could start immediately, with the computer
ruling out the impossibilities, but it would take some time.  The ice
storm..."  He finished his sentence with a spreading of his hands.

"Effective immediately, Holodeck Two is to be set aside for the
 reconstruction. Use whatever you need.  I want this power source
 defined as soon as possible."

O'Brien would have expressed his gratitude in a less restrained manner
if he were with anyone but Picard.  Somehow, he didn't think the
captain would appreciate a slap on the back.  "Thank you, sir.  We'll
do our best to narrow down the possibilities."

Picard rose.  "I won't keep you from your work any longer, Chief.
Keep me posted on your progress.  You are dismissed."

"Aye, sir."  The doors hissed closed behind O'Brien, and Picard began
to pace.

Native Philemite crystals powering a cloaking device to a Romulan
shuttlepod? It was another piece added to the infuriating puzzle this
mission had become. He'd speak with Governor Anderson as soon as
possible on the matter of the crystals.  He'd also pass that
information along to the away team, if that were at all possible.
Everything hinged on that interminable ice storm.  No, he didn't like
it at all.

---

Ensign Eliva Riss, medical technician and current ranking officer of a
three-person team, came to an abrupt halt.  "Be sssilent, pleassse,"
she cautioned Sabu and Taylor.  Tilting her head and pointing her
antennae in the approximate direction of the sound, she listened
intently to the echo.  It was a sound she was all too familiar with,
and one she hated.  It was a human in pain. "We will not proceed," she
paused, "to the rendezvous point."

"Commander Riker's orders were to return to the cave mouth," Taylor
put in, swallowing one of the private names he had for his commanding
officer of the last fifteen minutes.

Eliva's antennae twitched, an Andorian version of a wince.  Her hand
went instinctively to her bundle, drawing the medikit to the top.  It
was going to be needed, and soon.  "I sssaid to be sssilent.  That
isss an order," she hissed.  "One of our colleaguesss hasss been
injured."  Her antennae curled. The scent of human blood had made her
ill all during her first month of training in human medicine, but she
had quickly gotten over it.  Now, she could feel the nausea
threatening to return.

"I'm picking up life signs, human and otherwise, approximately one
hundred meters north by northeast," Sabu reported, checking his
tricorder.

Eliva turned quickly, her blue antennae and orange markings the only
colour in a sea of white. "How many?"

"Three human,   eight otherwise."  Sabu consulted the tricorder again.
"I'd say the otherwise are the right size to be dunfs.  They're all in
motion. Continuing north by northeast."

Taylor glared at the only two exits to the tunnel they were in,
forking at true south and true west. Returning they way they'd come
would only make a giant circle, with no other outlets.  Unless, of
course, the corkscrew tunnels didn't accidentally land them in the
right place, or some place even worse than the source of the screams.
With the countless turns, he wouldn't bet on anything ending up like
it should. "How do you propose we get there, *ma'am*?"

Eliva stood perfectly still, processing the information she already
had. Factoring out the echoes,and relying on the strength of the dunf
and blood scents, she weighed her options.  "We will take the west
tunnel," she decided. "The sound is purer in that direction," she
explained, seeing Taylor's skeptical look.  "Human earsss would not,"
she paused, her antennae drooping with the futility of trying to
explain her choice.  She couldn't recall any of her superior officers
ever giving detailed descriptions of their orders.  "It is my
decision.  Draw phasers."

Jeffrey Taylor needed no command from the Ice Woman to draw his
weapon; he'd had a hand on it for the past half hour.  His fingers
curled around the grip, ready to fire.  He didn't like having to wait
for permission from Riss, who was only in command of the team because
she had held the rank of ensign for a full two days longer than he and
Sabu.

Now, both Taylor and Sabu could smell the blood.  Blood, and the musky
odor of dunf, much stronger than the traces clinging to the front of
their robes.  The three of them picked up speed, not yet running; that
wasn't safe on the slick, frozen ground that seemed to curve in
Escher-like directions every few meters. They came almost immediately
to another fork, this time having the options of north and east.

Eliva took only a second to decide.  In the distance, two lights
gleamed, moving away from them rapidly.  "North."

The tunnel was too narrow to accommodate anything more than single
file.  Eliva motioned for Taylor to precede them.  If the tunnel could
allow Taylor's bulk to pass, the more slender Eliva and Sabu would
have no problem.  Directly behind Taylor, Eliva already had her
medikit out, one hand wrapped around a hypospray.  She had the sinking
feeling that no matter what she did, it wouldn't be enough.  If the
dunf had released any venom, which it most likely had, there were only
precious minutes in which to administer the antitoxin.  She could
already hear her companions' heartbeats accelerating.  The injured
human's heart would be at the same rate of acceleration, if not
higher, and that would only pump the venom through the system faster.

Behind her, Rohit Sabu cursed softly.  His tricorder was blinking on
and off. He knew he should have put it away when Eliva had given the
order to draw phasers, but she hadn't exactly said to, and besides,
the readings he was getting were...

He found himself facedown in the frozen gravel and ice, both phaser
and tricorder skittering out of his reach.   Scrambling to his knees,
he took the slender hand Eliva extended to him, and scooped up the
phaser that was now only a step away.  It was still working.  Taylor
handed him the battered tricorder, which Sabu checked immediately.  It
was still blinking steadily, reading a new object.

In unison, their heads turned toward the metal object that glinted in
the beam of Taylor's light.

Slowly, but with purpose, Eliva moved toward it, after motioning
Taylor to flatten himself against the cave wall where the tunnel
widened just enough for her to pass.  She angled her antennae,
focusing all her senses on the shiny thing.  It was only then that she
noticed how close the object was to a sheer drop over a ledge.  She
silently thanked God Sabu had tripped. Otherwise, they might well have
gone right over the edge themselves.  She crouched down to pick up the
object, knowing what it was, but still wary.  She looked at it again,
as though it were the first time.  Wordlessly, she stood and extended
it for Taylor and Sabu's inspection.  In the beam of Taylor's
light,the silvery metal of the VISOR gleamed brightly.

---

"Over here."

At the sound of Riker's voice, Sarah focused her light on the wide
puddle of bright red on the ground.  Tufts of white fur dotted the
puddle, absurdly reminding her of clouds.  There were footprints and
dunf tracks leading away from it, spots and streaks of red clearly
marring the way.

Riker looked at Sarah, his shock and concern clear in his eyes.
"Human blood?"

Sarah nodded.  "I'm afraid it is.  My guess is that our comrades found
themselves too close to a dunf's nesting spot.  Dunfs are terribly
protective parents.  Any threat to the young, and they'll attack.  I
can't say if the dunfs responsible for this released any venom or
not."

"And if they did?"

Sarah's reply wasn't encouraging.  "Fatal, I'm afraid, if the
antitoxin isn't administered in time."

Riker's mind raced through the possibilities, a hand kneading at his
temple to help it along. "Could the victim administer the antidote to
himself?"

Sarah answered with a sad shake of her head.  "There wouldn't be time.
Dunf venom causes nearly instant paralysis in Philemites.  The human
nervous system is similar enough.  Andorians are immune for the most
part; they'd get a mild skin rash, but that's about all."

That was good for Andorians, Riker thought, but the blood on the cave
floor was human red,  not the bright blue of Andorian blood.   "How
long would the victim have?"

She took only a moment to recall the information.  "Roughly five
minutes before it starts to take effect.  Ten if the heartbeat can be
slowed to a relaxed state.  It's not likely though, since the climate
is already putting extra stress on the heart to begin with."

No, it wasn't likely.  "Especially not with the adrenaline the attack
would activate."   Riker nodded,surveying the site carefully.  Oddly
enough, he was reminded of a time his father had taken him hiking, and
taught him how to read wolf tracks.  *Pretend they're wolves.*   "How
large is the average pack?"

"This tunnel isn't large enough to hold an entire pack.  I'd say at
the most, a male, his harem, and their young.  Six to ten per litter.
Most survive, since the dunfs are near the top of the food chain."

Riker scowled, his hand pressing again at the throbbing in his skull.
"Are all these tracks from adult dunfs?"

Sarah squinted at the ground.  "I can't tell in this light, but the
young might not have been here. If the mother thought there was a
threat, that would be enough for her to attack.  She wouldn't take any
chances."

"Would the dunfs be satisfied with one kill?"

Kyle Riker's voice echoed in Will's mind.  *Remember, Will, the most
dangerous animal you're ever going to run into is a mother anything.*

"There's no need for assuming the worst.  As soon as they're convinced
the young are no longer threatened, they'll go on to something else,
likely related to food or sleep.  The best thing our friend could have
done was to play dead." She crouched and examined the ground more
closely.  "Which it looks like he did."

Riker joined her.  He moved forward slowly, still in the crouch, his
fingers tracing the air just over the ground.  "Could one dunf drag a
human?"

Sarah matched Riker's progress.  "It's possible," she allowed,
picturing the scene in her mind. "One could do the job, but it was
more likely two dunfs. The females are cooperative in protecting the
young.  Each litter belongs to the entire pack.  Seeing just one
female would be rare; she'd be sick."

Riker nodded his understanding.  Now, he was past the puddle, where
the trail of trampled gravel began.  There were dunf tracks on either
side of a large, erratic squiggle that indicated something had been
dragged.  Two different sizes of bootprints, spaced as if running,
told him that the dunfs hadn't taken down the other two people.  Yet.

"I assume the nest is in the opposite direction from this," he
guessed, his eyes following the tracks as far as he could see.

"It does."  Sarah felt a chill entirely unrelated to the temperature
creep up her spine.  *Calm, Cromwell.*  "I'd recommend phasers on
heavy stun.  The dunfs we find won't be friendly, and they may decide
to call in reinforcements. We don't want to run into papa unprotected,
either."

Riker didn't need to hear any further explanation. "Heavy stun."

"Heavy stun," Sarah confirmed, adjusting her phaser's setting.  She
paused, a too-familiar sound catching her attention.  "Listen."

Riker focused all his attention on the low, barely audible growling
sound, accompanied by the scratching skitter of clawed feet on frozen
gravel.  There was no time to think.

---

"Brina?  You still there?"

Lieutenant Junior Grade Sabrina Sinclair squeezed Geordi's hand to
reassure him she hadn't left. "I'm here, sir."

Geordi managed a smile.  "Good.  You were pretty quiet there for a
while.  What happened?"

Sinclair checked her tricorder for what seemed like the millionth time
in the past five minutes. The chronometer was working, she thought, if
she could be liberal with the term "working," but that was about it.
"The tricorders again. According to my instrument, we've been here for
five minutes, but yours says twenty-three."

Geordi let out a whistle of surprise.  "Twenty-three!  You're
kidding!"

Sinclair shook her head.  "I wish I were.  I think I can also say we
haven't run into the smallest temporal anomaly in the galaxy.  Our
tricorders are nuts."

Pulling himself up to standing, Geordi exhaled a long breath and
brushed the snow from his robes. "Sure could use Data's chronometer
about now.  The tricorders telling you anything else? Anything
worthwhile?"

She keyed in the same test sequence she'd been trying periodically
since they'd left the cave, expecting to get the same readout of
random characters, but instead had to force herself to stifle a cheer.
This was a critical mission, not a soccer match.  Out in the open as
they were, it wasn't wise to draw any more attention to themselves
than was absolutely necessary.  "They've finally admitted we're here.
Both of us."

With that said, Sinclair finally allowed herself to let out the breath
she felt she'd been holding forever.  There had been a few times,
during their frantic scramble out of the collapsing tunnel, and
subsequently, the cave,that Sinclair had thought they weren't going to
make it.  The dunfs had come out of nowhere, without even so much as a
blip on any of the three tricorders.  There had been five of the
animals - *five* - and the tricorders hadn't gotten any readings at
all. According to the instruments, the dunfs hadn't even been in the
caves.  So much for  technology. She looked back at the cave and
shuddered.

"What about Doctor Crusher?"

Sinclair grinned, checking her tricorder once more, then Geordi's.
"The tricorders both say we're the only life forms in the vicinity,
but I can see her now.  She's out, she looks fine, and she's coming
this way."

Geordi's face lit with hope as his posture straightened.  "Does she
have the VISOR?"

Sinclair shook her head again, then reminded herself that Lieutenant
Commander La Forge wasn't currently wearing the VISOR.  Without it, he
couldn't see her, or anything else, for that matter.  It was too easy
for her to forget about the thing.  She'd never admit it, but prior to
that day, she'd always considered the VISOR more like a piece of
exotic jeweler than a true necessity.  "I can't tell from here, but
she's alone."

*Alone.  Damn.*  Both of them had hoped the doctor would have been
able to find at least one other member of the landing party.  The last
Geordi could remember, Data had been alone.  Sinclair hadn't been able
to do much more than break through the tunnel opening,  which had
collapsed behind them, rock, ice and snow making an effective barrier
against any pursuing dunfs.   Geordi himself had felt useless,
completely without sight, having lost his VISOR in the attack.
Instead of being able to help re-enter the cave, all he'd been able to
do was sit there, just another useless frozen lump.  He fit right in
with the rest of the planet.

Well, sure, he told himself, there was the matter of the dunf who'd
decided to take a taste of his left arm.  Beverly had managed to stop
the bleeding and administer the antitoxin in time to prevent any
damage, but Geordi still felt like he should be doing more.  He hadn't
felt any pain for a good ten minutes now, and he certainly had all of
his senses about him.  Except for sight. Sight, or a reasonable
facsimilie.

Ever since he'd gotten the VISOR...no, he corrected himself, ever
since he'd gotten used to the VISOR, he'd felt odd without it.  Now,
being without the instrument was worse than usual.  He found his
fingers sneaking up to the place where the VISOR should be when he
thought Sinclair had her head turned away from him.  Maybe, just
maybe, the voice of the little boy he'd once been told him, the VISOR
would magically be there the next time he reached for it.  It wasn't,
but he kept hoping.

He could hear Beverly's boots crunching through the snow now.  She
didn't have the VISOR, he just knew it.  Her breathing was harder than
usual, though, and the sound of that, combined with the sound of her
steps, told Geordi she was carrying something.

"How'd it go?" he asked, hoping his voice was as level as he'd been
trying to keep it.

"I couldn't get in too far," Beverly explained, her tone beyond
apologetic. Besides the snow, I'd say there was at least a meter of
rock.  That tunnel is sealed.   I did manage to get one of the packs,
though."  She set the pack down, crouching next to it as Geordi and
Sinclair followed suit.  "Luckily, I didn't run into any more dunfs on
my way back here.  That probably means they've found something more
interesting than us."

"Or tastier," Geordi added, rubbing the spot on his arm beneath the
torn sleeve.  "What's in the pack?"

With shaking fingers, Beverly undid the pack's fastenings as carefully
as she could.  "I had to do some digging to get this.  It was under a
pile of snow big enough to ski on, but there shouldn't be much
damage."

"Hey, I have faith in Starfleet's sturdy construction.  Let's see
what's in there.  A nice big plate of jerk chicken would be great, but
I think we could make do with a round of standard rations about now."
There was less contrast to Geordi's  familiar bright grin with his
face the pale white and orange of the Berrek, but it still had the
usual effect.  He could hear both Crusher and Sinclair's breathing
ease up a little.

Beverly reached into the open pack and took out the first thing her
hand touched.  "Rations it is," she said, handing the package to
Sinclair.

Sinclair took the packet, breaking it into thirds, then distributing
the pieces.  She wasn't hungry; none of them were, but eating was
something to do. She nibbled on her portion, not tasting the food at
all, which she counted as a plus.  Instead, she watched the others.
They were both nervous, she could tell, but didn't want for her to
know that.  Sinclair didn't blame them.  She tugged her hood more
firmly over her head to guard against the wind, and concentrated on
consuming her ration.

"Hey, would you ladies mind chewing a little louder?" Geordi asked,
with mock offence.  "A guy might get to thinking he's all alone out
here."

"Not a chance," Beverly said.  "Nobody's going anywhere on their own.
Doctor's orders." She paused, tugging her hood securely into place.
"I tried activating my communicator again, a little beyond the cave.
It bleeped, but I couldn't get any kind of connection."

Geordi's expression grew thoughtful.  "Okay, let's think about this.
The communicators, ours at least, didn't work at all inside the cave,
so we can assume the others didn't work, either. Tricorder functions
are impaired, but phasers are working.  Bev, how's the medikit
coming?"

Beverly grimaced, grateful that the fur trim of her hood concealed her
expression.  "Let's just hope we don't run into any more dunfs.  I had
to use the entire dose of antitoxin on you."

"Glad you did," Geordi said.  "What about the pack you brought out?"

"Mine, I'm afraid.  The hypo's empty."

Geordi nodded.  "Okay, that can't be helped.  Do you think it's worth
another try to re-enter the cave?  The tunnel we just left is sealed,
but there's got to be others we can could try."

Sinclair spoke up.  "I think I can find where we originally entered
the cave from out here.  If any of the others have returned to the
mouth, or tried to, that's the best place to start looking."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Geordi said approvingly.  "Guess we
finally get to see if Worf's bragging about that map you carry around
in your head is justified."

Sinclair was glad for the heavy white colouring that covered her face.
No doubt she was blushing furiously under it.  Although she couldn't
imagine Worf bragging about anyone, she did take a certain
satisfaction in her innate sense of direction.  "If I could see your
tricorder, Doctor," she asked, turning towards Beverly.

Beverly handed her tricorder to Sinclair and resumed her inspection of
the pack.

"Commander La Forge thought we might be able to boost one of the
tricorders to almost full power by combining the power sources of all
three," Sinclair explained.  "I'd feel a lot better about this if we
could get any kind of a decent idea of what's around us."  She paused.
"Kind of funny, though.  My mother always warned me not to get too
dependent on technology.  She wanted to know what I'd do if I ever
found myself completely without it.  I hope we don't have to find
out."

"Sounds like my mom, too," Geordi said.  "Which tricorder are you
going to boost?"

Sinclair took a moment to consider her options.  "Mine, I think.  If
we run into any of the natives who've been keeping company with the
Romulans, I'd like to know what kind of firepower they've got."

"Good idea," Beverly agreed.  "Everything seems to be in working
condition. Since we have limited medical supplies, I'd like us to
start moving as soon as possible.  The longer we stay here, the better
our chances of becoming dunf buffet.  We might try re-entering the
cave one more time.  I don't like being out here with only one pack."

"Especially when the pack is out of antitoxin, right?" Geordi finished
 for her. "What's it look like in there?"

"Messy," the doctor conceded with a deep sigh.  "Almost like Wesley's
closet, but snowier.  If we can't find anything else this time, I'd
give up.  I don't think the dunfs are going to bother us and leave the
rest of the team alone."

Sinclair nodded.  "If they've gotten a taste for us, they'll keep
looking. I've almost gotten this togeth..."

Geordi picked up the change of tone in Sinclair's normally upbeat
speech. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if I'd call it wrong, sir," Sinclair demurred, searching
for the right word, "but it's not right."

"Not right how?" Geordi pressed.  "Could you have given it too much
power?"

"I don't think so," she answered, her voice reflecting her puzzlement.
"Doctor, take a look at this."  For Geordi's benefit, she added, "The
tricorders are detecting both human and Romulan DNA nearby, but hardly
any of either."

Beverly scrutinised the information on the tricorder and
double-checked it, then checked again. "It's a very small amount, but
definitely there.  I'd say no more than two or three kilometers from
us.  No life signs, but I am getting some genetic resonance..."  Her
voice trailed off.  The  first explanation that popped into her mind
interrupted her report. "There's enough to account for a four-month
fetus."

*Enough to account for a four-month fetus.*  Geordi understood.  "You
think it might be the corpse of Lieutenant Cromwell's child?"

"It's possible.  She did say that the Romulans had put the child
outside the compound after she miscarried.  I don't see how we could
be that close to the compound so soon," Beverly wondered aloud.

Sinclair cleared her throat.  "We can't trust what the tricorders are
telling us inside the cave, so we don't know how far we've come."

"Doctor, you said two or three kilometers.  Can you get anything more
specific?" Geordi asked, "How about direction?"

"Well, finally!  It's actually working," Beverly explained.  "If we
can trust this reading, we should find..." she swallowed.  "We should
find the source of the DNA two point nine kilometers north by
northeast."

A warning light clicked in Geordi's brain.  "You've moved away from
the cave, right?  Are you standing near any large rocks or rock
formations?"

"No."

"You're standing in open space?  As in you can't reach out and touch
anything mineral from where you're standing right now."

"Yes," Beverly answered, trying to follow the engineer's logic.  "I
mean, no. That is, I'm not standing near anything.  It's open space."

That had to be it.  "It's something in the mineral content of the
stone," Geordi said. "Whatever's been screwing up our equipment is in
the rock, and I'll bet that's what the Romulans have been after.  If
this DNA is in fact Lieutenant Cromwell's child, then we're probably
pretty darn close to the Romulan base of operations.  I say we find
out for sure."

---

Eliva, Sabu and Taylor stared at the VISOR in Eliva's hand, not quite
knowing what to do next. The very fact that the VISOR was in Eliva's
hand, instead of with Lieutenant Commander LaForge, where it belonged,
cast a pall on the air around them.  Suddenly, Eliva's two days of
seniority over Sabu and Taylor seemed remarkably irrelevant.  There was
no next logical step, unless calling for her mother counted.  Somehow,
she was sure it didn't.  She kept looking at the VISOR.

"Ma'am?"  There was a small amount of respect in Taylor's voice.
Personal opinions aside, it was always wise to be on the good side of
one's commanding officer.   Seeing the VISOR all by itself had made
him feel very alone.  "What do we do now?"

What *did*  they do now?  Eliva turned the VISOR over in her hands,
wishing she could tell if it were still functioning, or if it had been
damaged somehow. When and if they encountered LaForge, he'd certainly
want to know.  She took a moment to think, keeping her eyes and
antennae down. There was no benefit in allowing Taylor and Sabu to
know she was just as nervous as they were.

She remembered from the early days of her training, that the first
thing in any emergency was to make a preliminary diagnosis.
Lieutenant Commander LaForge was likely injured, at the very best
disoriented.  If he had been bitten by a dunf, which was likely, since
the animal would choose the prey that could be most easily surprised,
his heartbeat would be greatly accelerated.  With an accelerated
heartbeat, the venom would have spread rapidly, bringing with it
paralysis.  If he hadn't received the antitoxin by now, there was
nothing she could do; he would already be dead, and she didn't have
the proper equipment to resuscitate him.   If he had received the
antitoxin, that meant there was someone with him to tend him.  Both
possible scenarios firmly in place in her mind, she handed the VISOR
to Sabu.

"Can you tell if there hasss been," she paused, "any damage?"

"I'll try, ma'am."  Sabu took the VISOR and examined it at first
visually, and then with the increasingly unreliable tricorder.  He'd
always wanted to get a good look at the VISOR, but not like this.
Ideally, he'd like to have Commander LaForge there to answer his
questions and point out all the interesting features.   A VISOR was a
masterpiece of medical engineering.  He'd studied records and logs on
its development, and thought it was an absolute miracle, but the
actual thing was far different from anything he'd read about.

Apart from a few scratches to the metallic surface, Sabu couldn't find
anything wrong.  The tricorder scan didn't report any damage either,
but he wasn't so sure he should accept that.

"I can't find any damage, ma'am," he said at length, "but I've been
getting some abnormal readings from my tricorder for the past several
minutes, since we passed the stalactites."

"And you're just telling us now?" Taylor demanded.

Eliva shot him a quelling look, her antennae nearly erect with
impatience. "Abnormal?  Define abnormal, please."

"Life signs have been erratic.  The number in our party has been
frequently varying, according to my readings.  Right now, nobody's
here, but the VISOR is."  Knowing how absurd that sounded, he added,
"Honestly.  It is.  Have a look."

Taylor peered over Sabu's shoulder.  "He's right."

Eliva didn't need to look.  Ever since they'd passed the stalactites,
Sabu had said.  That would stand to reason that the stalactites had
something to do with the abnormality.  "Taylor, check your tricorder,"
she ordered, while recalibrating her own.

"I have two life signs," Taylor reported, "but I can't tell who...or
what."

Eliva repeated her test.  I have only one; myself.  We will return to
the stalactites for further testing."

"What about the VISOR?" Sabu asked, turning it over again for another
look at the connectors.

Eliva extended her hand.  "I consssider it to be medical equipment."
She paused.  "I will carry it in my pack until we rendezvous with
Lieutenant Commander LaForge."  She congratulated herself on sounding
certain that they would make that rendezvous.  She wasn't certain, to
be honest, but as she had heard Commander Riker say before, it wasn't
what she knew that mattered, it was what others thought she knew.  If
she had confidence, so would her team.

"And then?"

"And then, Mr Taylor, Lieutenant Commander LaForge can determine its
status. Until then, it isss medical equipment.  We will return to the
stalactites." She paused, reminding herself to think like a command
officer.  "Phasers set to kill."

---

Sarah watched mutely as the dunf, springing from the darkness of a
hidden tunnel, launched itself at Riker.  The two of them went down in
a swirl of white fur, making it impossible to tell where one left off
and the other began. The sound of Riker's body crushing his pack
against the rock wall of the cave made her wince.  A fast move of one
finger chanced her phaser's setting from heavy stun to kill.  There
was no room for error.  She'd seen the dunf's double row of teeth
clearly...could imagine the long canine fangs dripping their deadly
venom into Willie's bloodstream.

"Not if I can help it."

Sarah wasn't aware she had spoken as she estimated the best place to
direct her single shot. There wouldn't be time for more.

Riker and the dunf turned over in the frozen gravel, rolling over each
other as they struggled for dominance.  As soon as Sarah had a good
clear shot at the back of the animal's neck, she took her chance.  The
phaser's bright crimson beam sliced through the dim light, finding its
target precisely.  The dunf slumped over Riker, going limp.  There
were more, she was certain of that, and they would be coming soon,
attracted by the scent of their fallen comrade.  The scent of dead
dunf would be to the rest of the pack like Mum's Yorkshire pudding was
to Sarah's brothers.   As it was, the smell of warm dunf meat was
making  *her*  hungry. Other dunfs would be even hungrier, and didn't
need a call to dinner.

A few quick steps took her to Riker's side.  Rolling the dunf's body
off him, Sarah inhaled sharply.  The thick fur robe covering Riker's
chest was torn and damp.  The clothing beneath was torn as well.
Pulling the cloth and fur away from the open wound, Sarah muttered an
Orion oath as she saw the dark blood seeping from the torn flesh, and
the sickly clear yellow of the dunf venom swirling through it.

*The pack.  There's a medikit in the pack, Cromwell.  Stop wasting
your time gaping and deal with the situation.*

The straps holding the pack to Riker's body had torn free in his
struggle with the dunf.  The pack itself lay several meters away.  Not
taking her eyes from him, Sarah propped her lantern against a loose
rock and scooted backward, feeling for the pack.  As soon as she had
it, she resumed her earlier position.

Thrusting one hand deep into the pack, Sarah swore again.  She should
have known.  The medikit had taken the brunt of the impact when Riker
had hit the wall.  Although her gloves protected her from the sharp
edges of broken glass and metal, she could tell that the damage was
severe.

"Useless."  There was still a small amount of antitoxin in the broken
hypospray, but the mechanism to drain the venom had been shattered.
The bandages couldn't be called sterile anymore, but they'd do,
especially since one of the rolls had soaked up the majority of the
antitoxin.

"We're going to have to work quickly," she explained as she selected
one of the sharper Philemite knives from the pack.  "How are you
feeling?"

Riker's movements were slow as he drew himself into a sitting
 position.  "Fine. What are you doing with that?"  From where he was,
 it looked like Sarah was aiming a phaser at a knife she held.  Why
 did she have a knife?  "We'd better get moving.  The dunfs..."

Sarah clicked off the phaser and turned back to Riker.  "You'll get no
argument from me on that, Willie.  I don't relish the thought of
having to drag you through this labyrinth.  I'd much rather have you
walk on your own."  She took a steadying breath.  "The vial of
antitoxin broke; there's not much left.  I'm going to try to suck our
the venom, so I'll need you to lie still."  Pulling aside Riker's robe
to expose the wound, she tried not to let her horror show as she saw
the shiny swelling that had already begun to pollute his flesh.
"Bloody hell, Willie.  If you succumb to this, I'm going to be cross
with you. Extremely cross."

"Then I'll...try....not to."

"I should be glad of that," she said firmly as she made a thin
x-shaped incision over the centre of the swelling area.  She was
fairly certain that Willie could hear, that the dunfs could hear, that
the bloody, bleeding Romulan sods could hear her heartbeat echoing
throughout the caves as she pressed her lips against his fevered skin,
drawing the poison into her own mouth.  As soon as Sarah tasted the
bitter venom, mixed with the sickly sweet taste of blood, she spat
forcefully, then began again.

Riker remained still while Sarah worked, trying to focus his thoughts
on something other than the numbness that was already starting to
muddy his mind. He could feel the hurried suction of Sarah's mouth
against the throbbing wound, feel the venom being drawn out.  Sarah
was doing everything she could, but the fact remained that the
makeshift treatment might not be enough.  He had to face that
possibility, to plan for it.

"Brit," he began, the next time Sarah lifted her mouth to spit,  "if I
don't make it..."

"You're going to," she informed him tersely before sucking once more.

Riker closed his eyes briefly, trying to will the numbness from
spreading through his thoughts to his body.  It was important to
continue.  With him or without him, there was a mission to be
completed.

"If I don't make it," he repeated, "I want you to take what you need
and," he paused, filling his lungs with barely enough air, "get out of
here."

Sarah said nothing, but kept on draining the venom.

"Get to the others if you can.  If not, then try to contact the
*Enterprise* and have them beam you back.  That's an order,
Lieutenant."

"You're going to make it," Sarah insisted, before drawing what she
devoutly hoped was the last of the venom into her mouth.  She spat.
"This might hurt a bit."  She pressed the flesh around the wound,
firmly, watching the blood rise to the surface and flow around the
fingers of her gloves, staining them bright red.

*Bright red on white fur...* Sarah could feel again the horrible
cramping pain, the warm wet rush dampening her garments...no.  There
was no time for that. She was touching Willie now, not the sod of a
Romulan guard, and she wasn't anywhere near the bloody door.
Compressing her lips into a firm line, she kept one hand on the wound,
reaching with the other for the precious vial.

"Willie, I need your help now.  Give me your hand; we've got to keep
the wound open to get the antitoxin in there."

It wasn't far to move, but just bringing his hand up to his own
shoulder took longer than either of them would have liked.  Riker
found himself tired from the effort.

"I'm ready," he told her, as he forced his trembling fingers to pull
the edge of the wound open. He was lying, and he could tell she knew
it.

Biting the inside of her lower lip, Sarah tipped the broken vial,
watching the pale amber liquid drip over the angry red flesh.  It was
far from the dosage recommended, but it was all they had.

As the first drop touched the open wound, Riker stifled a curse of his
own, not wanting to attract any attention from whoever else might be
in the caves.  "You lied," he accused through gritted teeth, his voice
laced with equal parts of pain and humour.

"I don't lie."

"Yes, you do.  You said it would hurt a bit.  It hurts like hell." He
managed a weak grin.

"Then I'm sorry," Sarah returned, making sure she'd gotten every last
bloody drop of antitoxin into the wound.  Maybe if she broke off the
bottom... "You should try Romulan disruptor fire sometime.  Makes this
seem like pleasure."

Riker grimaced, feeling the burn of the antitoxin as it began to flow
through his bloodstream.  "I have.  It does."

"Then count yourself fortunate," she told him, in the same tone he
remembered her chastising her younger brothers for sneaking into
Cromwell Manor's kitchens after hours.  "How are you feeling?"

"Fabulous," he answered, although he was having trouble focusing his
vision at the moment. "Never better.  Too bad there's no music; I feel
like dancing." *With both of you,* he added silently, closing his eyes
tightly.   When he opened them, he could make out Sarah's hands, only
one set of them, pressing the bandage in place over the wound.  The
small amount of warmth the bandage provided felt wonderful. Sarah's
hand felt better.  He ran his tongue over drying lips.  "What about
the dunfs?"

Sarah glanced at the hidden tunnel and the one they'd just come from.
Already, curious dunfs were no doubt making their way toward the tasty
meal that was sprawled only a  meter away, a phaser wound marring the
perfect white of its fur.  In the silence of the cave, she could hear
the faint skitter of claws on gravel.

"They'll be here soon."  Sarah estimated the distance.  Soon was an
understatement. "Can you walk?"

"I think so."  He was guessing.

"Good."  Sarah was busily scooping the remains of the medikit back
into the pack, careful to leave nothing behind.  She didn't relish the
thought of dunfs tracking them; the stupid beasts already had the home
advantage.  "Movement should help the antitoxin circulate faster.
Give me your hand." Riker's movements were visibly slower.  "How's
your vision?"

"No problem," Riker lied.  The paintings on the cave walls looked like
they were moving in a gentle, rhythmic wave.  Gaining his feet, he
paused only a moment to get enough of his bearings to continue.
"Where's my phaser?"

Sarah looked around.  "I don't see...there."  She prodded the dead
dunf with one booted foot, then bent to pull the phaser from under the
body.  "Sir, I recommend setting phasers to kill."

Riker knew there were words to respond to Sarah's, but he couldn't
summon them. Instead, he nodded, a limp, rag-doll motion.  Somewhere
in the distance, he heard a howl, then another.  Wolves answered each
other's howls, he remembered... There was somebody tugging on his arm
insistently.  Not a dunf; human.

"This way," Sarah prodded, pulling at the sleeve of Riker's robe.
"Unless you'd like to be the second course," she added under her
breath.  When this was all over, she promised herself she was going to
go someplace warm, very warm, and gorge herself on decent English food
until her arteries clogged.

As  soon as the two humans had disappeared around the bend of the
north tunnel, a young dunf, shaggy and half-grown, cautiously emerged
from the hidden tunnel. He sniffed the spot where the large human had
lain, and rolled on the cold, rough ground, claiming the territory.
His mark made, he turned his attention to the tasty meal nearby.

---

Counsellor Troi rolled her eyes back in her head as the erratically
crackling image of Governor Eric Anderson was replaced by an orbital
view of Philemon Three.  She was fairly certain she felt a headache
coming on, but it could be the captain's.  It could have belonged to
any  of the bridge's occupants, for that matter.  A symphonic
headache, she decided, might be the best term for it. Anderson had
managed to annoy everybody.

"Counsellor?"

Deanna crossed her legs and re-draped her skirt, hedging.  "He's not
consciously hiding anything,but he is very insecure."  She couldn't
tell if it were Anderson's normal manner, or peculiar to this
situation.  "He is worried."

Picard pounced on her diagnosis.  "Insecure?  How?  Worried about
what?"

"The governor is trying to give the impression that he is in control
of the situation," she explained, slim fingers kneading at her temple.

"He's not," Picard disagreed with a derisive snort.

Deanna looked up at Worf, who stood over the Tactical station, a
strong look of concentration on his face.  The Klingon was sending out
intense anger, much of it directed at the governor.  That, combined
with Picard's impatience and Wesley's anxiety, made it difficult for
her to focus on Anderson's emotions. She was grateful for the Vulcan
ensign occupying Data's station, providing a calm counterpoint she
could centre herself on.

"Sir," Worf interrupted, "I am picking up power fluctuations on the
planet's surface.  It is in the..." he growled, growing more irritated
when the readout changed again.  "*Near* the crash site," he finished,
glaring at his station, as if daring the readout to change one more
time.

Picard was out of his chair in an instant, striding up the deck to
join the Klingon.  "Show me."

Worf jabbed a lean brown finger at the display on the console.
"Here," he informed the captain tersely, "is the source of the
fluctuation."

Picard looked at the map, making a quick, critical survey.  "Are there
any of the shuttlecraft's remains left at the site?"

"No.  Chief O'Brien reported that all parts of the shuttlecraft not
beamed aboard broke up on transport."

Picard's hand gripped the rail of the Tactical station, his knuckles
showing white against the dark wood-toned finish.  "So, there's
nothing left at  the site that could read as a power source?" His keen
eyes lit on another reading. "What is this?"

Worf followed Picard's pointing finger.  "That is the mining field
closest to the crash site."

"And this?"

Worf scowled.  "That is your thumbprint, sir."

Deanna stifled a giggle as Picard forced a cough and straightened,
clasping both hands behind his back.

"Thank you, Mr Worf.  I was referring to the reading next to the
thumbprint."

The Klingon didn't even look up from his console.  "That is the
settlement's auxiliary generator."

Picard nodded.  He couldn't make sense of the displays at Tactical at
that moment, so he strode by the science station, peering briefly over
the shoulder of the female Tellerite who was still sweeping the
general area for life signs. There was still no new information.  It
bothered him.  There were too many unknown factors for him to be
comfortable.  Deanna had told him she was certain all of the away team
were still alive.  Normally, her assurance would have been enough, but
not this time.

For a governor, Eric Anderson seemed remarkably ill-informed.  The man
didn't seem to know anything about Philemon Three that didn't directly
relate to the mining settlement.  That wasn't good enough. While
Picard admired focus, he had no patience for incompetence.  Anderson
was pushing the word to its limit. There were nine Starfleet officers
down there, likely to run into any number of Romulans; Romulans who
were possibly using Anderson's precious crystals to power cloaked
shuttles and God alone knew what else.    Picard found it incredulous
that Anderson could know as little as he claimed about it all.

The bridge itself seemed alien as Picard's mind filled in the empty
seats. Riker should have been in the seat to the right of the centre
chair, and it should have been Data sitting where the Vulcan officer
now sat.  What Picard wanted most at the moment was to call Riker and
Data into his ready room for a conference.  Thanks to Anderson's
inability to see what was going on literally beneath his own feet,
that wasn't possible.

If there were indeed Romulans stationed on Philemon Three, and they
were indeed able to cloak a shuttle, then what else could they cloak?
Picard put a hand to his throbbing forehead, in a futile attempt to
ease the pounding inside his skull.  This infernal waiting was too
much.  He wanted to check on O'Brien's progress with the holographic
recreation of the Romulan shuttle, but he'd just done that ten minutes
ago.

O'Brien and his team were close; maybe in a couple of hours or so,
they'd have something to show the captain.  O'Brien had said as much
the last two times Picard had checked on him.  Once they had a good,
solid idea of what the power source had been, it would only be a
matter of locating that resource, and then they'd know where to start
looking.  Until then, all any of them could do was wait.

Picard wondered, and not for the first time, if he hadn't made a
mistake in allowing Lieutenant Cromwell to transport down.  Certainly,
Chief O'Brien could use her input; she knew the shuttle better than
anyone on board, even if that knowledge was only cursory.  She'd
piloted the damned thing.  Riker had protested; maybe he should have
listened.  After all, the young woman was just recovering from six
months of Romulan captivity.  How much could they possibly expect from
her?

"Captain!"  Worf's voice brought Picard back to the tactical station
 instantly. "One of the away teams is attempting communication."

"Communication?  Can you determine who?"

Worf's fingers flew over the touchpad, attempting to clear a channel
and get a firm fix on the shaky signal.  "No, sir.  I cannot determine
the exact source, although it is a few kilometers from the fluctuation
I was reading earlier."

Deanna Troi could feel the tension on the bridge lift considerably.
Even though the ice storm had been over for nearly two hours, there
had been no communication from any of the away team before now. The
small breakthrough was encouraging, but not enough.  She could sense
Wesley Crusher's hope rising.

Although the boy wouldn't admit to anything; in fact, he had denied
being worried at all when Deanna had talked to him an hour earlier,
she knew he was concerned about his mother.  In Wesley's mind, the
signal was clear and definite.  To him, it was obviously his mother's
communicator.  He needed for it to be, Deanna knew, his childlike
desperation piercing through the sense of duty he wanted to project.

Beverly had been having a running argument with Wes over some clothing
fad the young people had picked up from the last starbase.  Mother and
son had had a few words the day before, loud enough for Deanna to have
heard them while she passed by their door.  Deanna hadn't stopped
then, but she had discussed the situation with Beverly that morning
over breakfast.  In light of the current situation, whether or not Wes
would be allowed to wear the brightly-coloured alien headdress didn't
matter to anyone but the boy himself.  The part of him that hadn't yet
made the full transition from boy to young man was ready to accept the
blame for anything that might happen to his mother.

Shifting in her seat, Deanna admitted to herself that she might have
been doing something similar.  Being on the receiving end of one of
Will Riker's bad moods was not a pleasant experience, and for Deanna,
it was a relatively new one. For some reason, Sarah Cromwell was a
sore spot where Will was concerned.  The fact that Will strongly
preferred that Deanna keep her distance from the young woman pricked
at her counsellor's instinct.  Deanna wondered if Will would have
mentioned his reasons when they met to discuss Deanna's "breach of
protocol." There were only a few hours left until the time for their
appointment.

Deanna shifted again, uneasily.  Even though it was several hours
past, their confrontation still unnerved her.  Will had felt violated
when she'd entered the room where he was comforting Lieutenant
Cromwell.  There was something beneath the feeling of violation,
something he'd been unwilling for her to read, but this was neither
the time nor the place for thinking about it.  Even so, the intensity
of the emotions continued to nag at her.

---

Geordi stopped, focusing his attention on the senses he did have.  The
cold air hit his exposed face with stinging slaps each time the wind
shifted.  He'd almost gotten used to the pungent smell of dunf fur,
but not entirely.  The arm linked through his, leading him, was
slender but strong.  He'd wanted to get to know Brina Sinclair better,
but not like this.  He would have preferred their walk to be along a
beach with soft, warm sand, Spanish guitar playing in the background,
and a plate of risotto awaiting them at their destination.  Endless
snow, hungry dunfs and the interminable howl of the wind just didn't
come close, he noticed, as Sinclair's steps slowed.

"Let me guess.  Another hill, right?"

"Just a small one," Sinclair answered, glancing up at the night sky.
Philemon Three's twin moons were shining silver on the endless expanse
of snow in front of them.  She recalled, from the briefing they'd been
given right before beaming down, that the skies didn't stay clear for
long on Philemon Three.  The massing clouds were already starting to
block out the stars, but for now the light from the moons was enough
for the three of them to make their way without having to use any
artificial lights.  Sinclair wouldn't want to be the one to explain
Starfleet equipment to the Klevv she was sure they'd soon encounter.
They'd gone fairly long without running into the natives, and that
alone set of a warning in her mind.  Sooner or later, they would.

Only a few steps ahead of them, Beverly Crusher consulted their lone
functioning tricorder once again.  The readings she was getting were
stronger now, much stronger.  Human and Romulan DNA, combined into a
single string. Ever since she'd formed her hypothesis about the
source, she hadn't been able to keep her mind from imagining Wesley in
place of Lieutenant Cromwell's child. The thought was ridiculous, of
course.  Wes was fine.  Far from a fetus, he was well on his way to
being a man; hardly a child at all anymore.  Most likely, he was on
duty at the moment, probably even working to get his own mother back
aboard the ship.  She smiled to herself, deciding it was time for
another try at communicating with the *Enterprise.*

Over the last hour or so, they'd tried to contact the other members of
the away team, and the ship, at random intervals.  Nothing important
had happened, nothing had gone through, but at least the process would
start.  A signal was sent out, and that was better than nothing.
Beverly reached into her robe and tapped the communicator. "Crusher to
*Enterprise.*"  Hi, Wes, she was thinking. There was no response, but
the familiar chirp of the comm badge was comforting.  "Your turn next,
Sinclair," she reminded the security officer, before turning her
attention back to the tricorder.  The readings were approximate, less
than desirable for her purpose, and it was a security tricorder when
she would have been much more comfortable with medical.  "Now, come
on, you two.  Let's get moving.  Frostbite is not fun."

"Yes, ma'am," Geordi replied, tightening his hold on Sinclair's arm.
He hated this helpless feeling.  If anything happened to the women, it
would be only a matter of time before he became Geordi La Forge,
dunfburger.  Out in the open, without anything he could use for a
guide, there was no telling where he was, or what direction he was
going.  "What I wouldn't give for a sensor net," he muttered under his
breath, feeling the snow now beneath his left foot give way.  He crumpled
to the ground, taking Brina Sinclair with him.

The surprise of falling was quickly replaced with the surprise of
falling farther.  Geordi and Sinclair fell through the icy powder of
the drift before either of them had a chance to call out.

Feeling the snow shift beneath her, Beverly turned around just in time
to see her companions disappear in a maelstrom of white.  As quickly
as it had flown up, the snow settled.  If she hadn't seen the two of
them fall, she would have had no way of knowing there had ever been
anyone there. Peering into the hole where the two officers had just
been standing, she was glad to see that both of them seemed to be all
right.

"You two okay?"

"Just fine," Geordi reported, "except for a little snow down the
back...make that a *lot* of snow down the back," he corrected.
"Brina?"

Sinclair took a moment to answer.  "I...I'm fine, sir.  I just landed
on something."

"What kind of something?"  Beverly called down.  "Can you see it?"

Sinclair shook her head.  "It's buried under the snow.  Doctor, if you
could give us a hand?"

"Be right there." Beverly carefully navigated the best route down, one
that wouldn't bring another shower of snow down on them.  "What have
we got?"  She took out the tricorder, taking a cursory reading.
"Geordi, we could use your hands."  Taking Geordi's gloved hand in
hers, she guided it to the spot Sinclair had indicated.  The three of
them dug slowly and carefully, not wanting to damage whatever it was
they'd found.

Minutes later, dunf fur gloves notwithstanding, their fingers were
numb to the bone, but the object had been uncovered.  Beverly was the
first to find it. No further scans were needed.  She tried,
unsuccessfully, to muffle the sob that rose in her throat.

"A girl," she pronounced, tears coming to her eyes as she saw the
perfect, delicate points of the tiny ears.  "It's a little girl."
With a shaking hand, Beverly picked up the small form.  Just bigger
than her hand, the child - she couldn't think of this as anything but
a child- was perfectly formed, miniature features frozen in their
innocent sleep.  Her professional training told her to discount the
colouring; exposure and death negated any of the normal colours the
child might have been. She could see, though, the dark patch at the
crown of the head, where hair would have been.  A tender line, which
she traced with the tip of one gloved finger, showed where the mouth
was going to be.  Little fists and feet , perfect but for their
stillness, brought a lump to Beverly's throat.

"I'm afraid we've found our human/Romulan DNA," she forced herself to
say, tearing her eyes away from the child's body long enough to
consult her tricorder.  "She looks to be roughly four-months-prenatal,
give or take a few weeks.  I'd like to do an autopsy when we get back
on board."

Geordi wasn't liking this at all.  There couldn't be all that many
human/Romulan four-month-prenatal corpses scattered over the
landscape.  This had to be Sarah Cromwell's child.  That would mean
they were much too close to the Romulan compound for comfort.

"We can record the coordinates and have he body beamed up later," he
 suggested. "My guess is your average Klevv don't carry Romulan bodies
 around in their packs."

Beverly sighed.  Geordi was right, of course.  It was the live
Romulans they had to worry about. This little one wasn't going
anywhere.   She logged the coordinates in her tricorder, praying the
information would stay.  Lieutenant Cromwell deserved to be able to
bury her child.

"Right," she said, reluctance weighing the single syllable.  "Are we
still sticking with the same plan, then?"

"I think it's our best chance," Geordi answered.  "If we can get into
the compound, I can try to contact the ship from there.  My guess is
that they're not going to stick themselves out in the arctic boondocks
without a reliable means of communication with their own fleet.  Out
here, they need food, they need heat; things in short supply from the
natives. " Geordi paused.  "Let's just hope they think all Klevv look
alike."

---

Distorted images flitted through Riker's mind.  He was awake, that
much he knew,  but little else.  He tried to wade through the mud of
his thoughts; there were things to do which required a clear mind.  He
hoped he could bring his up to muster, as he couldn't recall any
others being nearby.

Above him, bright stars and twin moons were quickly being veiled by
thick clouds, like a blanket being smoothed across the form of a
sleeping child. Moons and stars...  That meant he was outside.  How
had that happened?  Riker closed his eyes and thought hard.  The most
recent image he could recall was the inside of a cave.  The markings
on the walls had been moving in a graceful ballet, bright sports and
splashes of colour refusing to remain still.  It was as though they'd
had some sort of message to them, a message they didn't want to share.

Faces appeared and disappeared through the colours.  He saw his
father, crouched in the early November snow, gesturing through a
series of tracks that led into a tall stand of pines.  That was gone
now, replaced by his first view of a grand, ancient stone manner house
through a cold mist of rain.  The man beside him, his old Academy
roommate, Albert...no, Arthur Cromwell, was droning on and on about
some long-dead male ancestor with a feminine name that made Riker
snicker.  As Arthur elaborated on the escapades of Lord Evelyn,  Riker
had the distinct impression that he was being watched.  That was
impossible, though.  There weren't any Romulans in England.

There weren't any Romulans on the USS Hood, either.  Not usually, so
why were they watching him?  The incessant ticking of an old-fashioned
clock was counting down the minutes until he had to leave the room at
a run, leave Sarah, and rush to his own quarters.  He tried to move,
but thought better of it.  The wolves.  He should tell Sarah about the
wolves.  She probably didn't know the wolves were there.  He tried to
raise a hand, fascinated by the slowness of the motion. Someone was
jabbing him in the ribs, shaking him by one shoulder, pinching his
nostrils to force him to take large gulps of the frigid air.

"Willie!"  Sarah dropped the chunk of crystal she'd been toying with
and set about rousing Riker. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to
to do that anymore," she chided, prodding him in the side with the
heel of her hand.  *So help me, Willie, if you leave me alone out
here, I'll never forgive you.*

Riker blinked.  The colours flew away from his field of vision  at
warp speed like an exploding kaleidoscope.  The voice, the hands
belonged to Sarah Cromwell, Arthur's sister.  His own... "Brit."  He
blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the confusing
visual images.  "Report, Lieutenant."

Sarah allowed herself a small smile of relief.  He'd been silent too
long, still for only a few seconds, but she knew all too well that
seconds on Philemon Three were enough to last forever. "You fell
asleep again."

"Sorry."  Riker sat up, annoyed with the sluggishness of his
movements.  There was still enough dunf venom in his bloodstream to
slow things down considerably.  "Maybe you should talk about something
more interesting.  You know I get lost in British politics."

"Not as much as you'd like to think," she answered, in the same light
tone as his own attempt at humour.  Satisfied that Riker was all right
for the moment, Sarah retreated to her earlier position, picking up
the chunk of rose-coloured crystal once more.  "We weren't talking
about politics. We were talking about the atmosphere tent.  You don't
find that interesting?"

Actually, he didn't.  Although he was grateful for the tent's warmth
and protection, he found the mechanics of it, as Sarah would put it,
bloody boring. "You haven't changed.  Still finding everything
fascinating."

"Everything is," Sarah admitted, turning the crystal over in her
hands, watching the reflected starlight glinting off its rough facets.
"Keep talking. You need to remain conscious."

*Right.  Conscious.  Conscious would be a good idea.*  "So, talk."
Riker drew himself into a full sitting position, and stretched.  The
movements were still too slow and difficult for his liking. "Explain
the House of Lords again."

"It's part of Parliament," Sarah said, with a glare in Riker's
direction.  "I said *you* needed to talk.  *I* don't have dunf venom
just waiting for me to nod off.  So help me, Willie, if you succumb,
I'm setting you out there for the bloody dunfs to finish."

Riker let out an exasperated breath.  He wasn't comfortable not being
in control of his own body, and he was reluctant to let Sarah know
just how uncomfortable things had gotten.  "What are the dimensions of
the tent?."  He still didn't find the atmosphere tent's specifications
all that interesting, but it was better than figuring out his chances
of being fed to the dunfs.

Sarah didn't look up from the crystal.  "Three meters high, by three
meters wide, by three meters long.  Enough to pace," she informed him.
"Which wouldn't be a bad idea in your case.  It would get your heart
rate up."

Riker grinned, wincing at the slight pain standing brought.  Sarah
hadn't changed much at all. "Still have an answer for everything,
don't you?"  he asked, his voice warm with affection.

"And if I do?"

"It either means you're well prepared, or insufferable.  I haven't
decided which just yet.  When we get back to the ship, I'll make it my
top priority." He began to pace, mentally counting off the steps as he
took note of his surroundings.  The atmosphere tent, although cramped,
provided adequate protection from the cold.  Almost more importantly,
any casual observer, especially the Klevv, wouldn't see anything out
of the ordinary.  He and Sarah would only appear to be a couple of
idiots camping out in the open.

Even that wasn't too unusual, he thought, turning to pace the tent off
again. Enough time spent wandering around this particular winter
wonderland would drive anybody crazy.  "I take it we haven't been able
to make any progress," he ventured, as he peered over Sarah's
shoulder.

Sarah picked up a second crystal, this one a pale mint green in
colour.  "We haven't," she told him with a sigh of frustrated regret.
He noticed the way her gloved fingers tensed around the crystal as she
spoke.  "The tricorders seem to hav taken on minds of their own.
Creative ones at that, I might add, since they seem to be putting out
utter fiction."  She paused for a weary shrug. "Maybe when we get
moving again.  I don't see anything changing tonight."

Riker nodded.  He could see the first snowflakes dropping out of the
clouds, like feathers from a pillow that was about to break.  Why did
everything look like it was related to sleep?  Thanks to the dunf
venom, it was all he wanted to do, and the one thing he couldn't
chance.

Staying where they were, on top of the mountain, was best for as long
as this next storm lasted. He watched Sarah as she tossed the crystals
from one hand to the other, making a half-hearted, likely unconscious
attempt at juggling them. Those small hands had dragged him up the
last few meters of the mountain, when his legs had collapsed beneath
him, he remembered.  He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed, but it
was enough for the winds to almost erase their tracks. Even now he
felt a little wobbly, but he continued to pace, willing control into
his apathetic muscles.

He refused to worry about the other members of the landing party.
There was nothing he could do for them, and all of them were well able
to take care of themselves.  Whoever had been the dunf's appetizer,
they had two other people with them, equipped with vials of antitoxin.
Barring the destruction of all three vials, which was highly unlikely,
there was no reason for concern in that vein.  Data, off by himself,
would likely come out of this with a humourous anecdote or two,
whatever else he accomplished.

As for himself and Sarah, well, that was another matter.  She didn't
look much older than the girl she'd been when he first met her, as she
sat there, enveloped in the white dunf fur robe, the hood pushed back
to hang between her shoulder blades.  Her long, pale braid had coiled
in the hood, with a few stray wisps that she kept tucking back behind
her ears.  Riker smiled at her unconscious gesture, the almost silent
huff of annoyance every time she did it.  He was reminded of the time
she'd caught him, as a young cadet, having spent three hours in that
bathroom disguised as a library.

He shook his head, the action making him mildly dizzy.  He still
didn't know why Sarah's father had bookcases lining the walls of the
old-fashioned bathroom, but there were just some things about British
people in general, and Cromwells in particular, that didn't bear
examining.

*"Because the library was full,*"  she'd told him, with all of a
thirteen-year-old's impatience.

Sarah had come a long way since that winter break.  So had he.  So had
the universe.  That same kid who had nearly scared the life out of him
by hiding under an antique piano he'd been playing was now the best
source of information about a secret Romulan base.  Absurd.  It was
absolutely absurd.

*"Don't stop,"*  she'd urged, when Cadet Riker had come to the end of
the Chopin piece.  *"Play it again, please.  I love your passion."*

He remembered how he'd choked at her words, embarrassed by the double
entendre she hadn't meant, but more embarrassed that he'd been caught
indulging in something private.  She'd meant the music; of course she
had.  *"What are you doing down there?"*  he'd asked, as she crawled
out from under the ancient grand piano, dragging a heavy book with
her.  It had been something to do with Plutarch.

*"I live here.  Da likes you if he let you into the music room, you
know."* There had only been a moment of silence as Sarah had sized up
the situation. *"I won't say anything,"*  she'd assured him, *"if
you'll play the prelude again."*  Then she'd settled herself in one of
the padded chairs along the wall, ready to wait however long it took
for him to grant her request.  The lady of the manor had spoken.

*I love your passion....*

"Willie, you're not talking."

"I'm walking.  Isn't that enough?"

Sarah scooped up a third crystal, this one colourless and perfectly
clear.  If the tricorders had been working properly, she would have
analysed them,but that wasn't possible at the moment. "I'd rather hear
you talk.  You'll pardon me if I don't care to have the... splendour
of our surroundings all to myself. There's been quite enough of that."

"Consider yourself pardoned," he assured her.  It looked like the snow
was falling in slow motion around them, except for an area three
meters by three meters.  Riker wondered what the Klevv would have to
say about that.

"I'd like you to say more than a few words at a time, if you don't
mind.  I'm going to have enough inquiries without having to account for
your demise. Besides," she added with a sly smile and an appraising
glance over her shoulder, "you owe me a sitting."

Riker quit his pacing and dropped down next to Sarah, close enough
that he could feel the slight shaking of her arm as she transferred a
colourless crystal from one hand to the other.

"How's this?"

Sarah put down the crystals and gave Riker a light shove.  "I meant
for a portrait.  I didn't pack any charcoals when we beamed down."

"I thought I already sat for your portrait, in New Orleans."

"You didn't have that handsome set of whiskers in New Orleans," Sarah
teased, reaching a gloved hand up to touch Riker's beard.  "Your own,"
she clarified, "not the extensions, please. Besides, there's more
experience, more confidence, more..." She stopped as Riker captured
her hand before she could take it away. "What are you doing?"

What *was* he doing?  This was far from the ideal time or place for a
romantic interlude.  "Just feeling nostalgic, I guess.  You did
mention New Orleans."

New Orleans.  Sarah had called up the memory of their week in New
Orleans several times during the last six months, hiding her thoughts,
her mind, the part of her that truly mattered, in the smoky clubs of
the French Quarter while the Romulans savaged her body.  Willie had
promised he wouldn't let her leave until she had a proper appreciation
for jazz, and he'd succeeded.  The too-short evenings she'd sat in the
clubs and watched him play trombone while she sketched him were
cherished memories, like their walks down Bourbon Street. She'd
re-drawn every sketch in her head, paying painstaking attention to
every line and shadow.  She'd painted the portrait over and over, to
the point where she could almost recall each individual brush stroke.

"I told her about it."

"Her?  Who?"  Riker had a feeling he knew, and wasn't sure he was
ready to hear about it. *Don't cry, Brit...*

Sarah picked up the rose crystal again, rotating it with exquisite
slowness. "The child.  I don't know how, but she just seemed like a
girl.  She was.  I saw her before they took her."  *Don't cry,
Cromwell.*  "She had the loveliest...points on her ears.  They were
small, but I saw them." The corners of  Sarah's mouth curved upwards
with maternal pride, even as her eyes misted. "She was beautiful,
Willie."

Riker put a comforting arm around Sarah, pulling her close against his
chest until he could feel her heartbeat matching his own, beat for
ragged beat. "Tell me about her."

Blinking back a tear so the flood wouldn't come, Sarah took a ragged
breath. *Don't cry, Cromwell.  You're not going to cry.*  There really
weren't words to tell anyone what it had felt like to carry that
precious life, her one blessing in the midst of that hell.  There
wasn't anything she could say to make him understand,  make anyone
understand how hope could have a fluttery little heartbeat.

"I...could feel her moving about inside," she began, attempting the
 impossible. "It was like butterflies swimming, if that were
 possible."  Sarah bit down on her lower lip.  *You're not crying,
 Cromwell.  You're not.*  "Her name was Stephanie.  Stephanie Madeline
 Laura Juliet Cromwell.  I wanted her, Willie.  I hated the way she
 was made, but I wanted her.  They made her on purpose; they said I'd
 be..."  For all her orders to the contrary, Sarah's tears committed
 an act of pure insubordination, a rough sob choking off any further
 words as hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

*Those Romulan bastards.*    Riker's own eyes were moistening as he
pulled Sarah as close as he possibly could, locking her into his
embrace.   At the moment, he wouldn't bet on the chances of any
Romulan meeting him and coming out of the encounter alive.   Sarah
didn't have to say anything else.

He could follow the Romulans' logic although it made the bile rise
into his throat.  A half-Romulan child would have tied Sarah to them.
Forever.  Either the Roms would have convinced her to remain
voluntarily,  by retaining the child, or when she did escape, she'd be
suspected of fraternizing with her captors.  Even Worf had considered
that possibility.  If there were a live child, both Sarah and her
daughter would have faced a lifetime of that same suspicion.  He knew
that Sarah Cromwell was no Romulan sympathiser, but the rest of the
Federation didn't. There would be people who would draw their own
conclusions, the facts be damned.

Riker was looking forward to finding that compound.

---

Miles O'Brien practically raced onto the bridge, a medium-sized chunk
of rose-coloured crystal clutched in his left hands, fingers white
with pressure.

"This is it," he announced without preamble, on his way to Worf's
tactical station.  "If I may, sir?" As the Klingon stepped aside,
O'Brien took his place, the fingers of his right hand keying in the
code that would transfer the information he'd gleaned from the
holodeck reconstruction to the bridge.

Picard was out of his chair in an instant, coming up to join O'Brien
and Worf at Tactical. "Report, Chief."

"We found it, sir."

"It?" Picard asked, his brows shooting up with keen interest.  "Does
*it* have anything to do with that rock you've brought?"  To Picard,
it appeared to be a chunk of rose crystal, but the tension in
O'Brien's shoulders told him it was nothing that benign.

O'Brien looked up from the console, his face ruddy from the exertion
of running all the way from the holodeck.  "Aye, sir, it does.  These
crystals," he raised the crystal he still held for emphasis, "are the
reason nobody's reported any Romulan activity down there until now.
Nobody's seen them. These crystals, with a little help from modern
technology, make a damned find cloaking device."

"The Romulan base is cloaked?"  Worf's low growl of a question spoke
for all present.

Picard dove into the new information, his patrician features coming
alive with interest.  "How is this possible?"  Then, recalling his
previous talk with the transporter chief, waved a hand in dismissal.
"Never mind.  We don't have time for explanations.  Is there any way
to break through it?  Any way we can..."

He was cut off by a faint, scratchy transmission.  "Sinclair to
*Enterprise*..."

"Lock onto that signal and beam directly to the bridge!"

---

Lieutenant Commander Data followed the heavily laden dunfs trudging
through the tunnel, the small boys on either side of the animals
regarding him curiously. The children were not at all afraid of him,
although their mother had been a bit reluctant at first to allow the
newcomer into their procession.  Her husband, however, a tall, bluff
man named Rald, had been pleased to find another member of the Berrek
Klevv, since their procession had lost an adult male in a recent ice
storm.

Data had thought it curious that Rald and his family had chosen to
travel inside the caves.  Rald had volunteered that his wife, Kalat,
had been upset over the loss of her brother in the storm, and had
refused to put another of their procession at risk again so soon.
Data would have appreciated Counselor Troi's presence at the time.
Something about Rald and Kalat did not fit with his information on
Klevv behaviour, but he was unable to isolate what it was. Rald seemed
unusually familiar with the route they were taking.  All previous
information Data had on Klevv migratory practices and traditions told
him that a procession seldom visited the same place twice, believing
that their first presence had changed the area.  It was, the writings
of Veklad Rhu'gesh said, impossible to wander a familiar place.  Data
had to agree with the Philemite philosopher on that point.

Although the children closest to him, twin boys about six years old,
peppered him with questions, Data spoke little, preferring to gather
as much information as possible.  He had explained, patiently, that a
storm had separated him from his own procession, and he did not know
if he would see them again, although it was what he wished.  Mostly,
he listened.  He learned the names of all the members of the
procession, and those of the dunfs.  Rald and Kalat's oldest son,
Gureb, was to reach manhood at his next birthday, and was quick to
inform Data, as well as his parents, of that fact.  Data thought it
strange that the boy spoke eagerly of the ceremony in which he would
receive his ritual tattoo, since the process as Data understood it
would be extremely painful for humanoids.

Gureb proved to be the main source of Data's information about the
procession, since, like many human adolescents, he seemed to enjoy
talking for its own sake.  His parents apologised for the boy's
chatter, admonishing their son to show their new companion some proper
respect.   Data assured them that Gureb reminded him greatly of a boy
of similar age in his own procession, and that he did not mind.

When they stopped, two hours after the one who called himself  Dtaa,
Herder of Dunfs, had joined them, Kalat watched the newest member of
their procession carefully.  It was common enough for a single person
to be separated from their companions during a storm, but this man,
Dtaa, seemed different somehow.  She was sure, of course, that
although he had become separated from his own dunfs in the storm, he
likely had many.   Strong, healthy, ones, she told herself, as she
shook out the coarsely woven ground cover.   To be a Herder of Dunfs
was an important occupation, one that carried considerable status.

That was evident in the way he was able to listen to Gureb's endless
chatter without protest, or drowsiness, for that matter.  The fact
that  a Herder had become separated from his dunfs could be overlooked
as a temporary misfortune. He was young and strong, and had mentioned
no wife.  If  Dtaa had been married, or promised, surely his companion
would have been his first concern.  He would have asked after family
before even his animals.  He had not.

She looked at her oldest daughter, Nuvel, who was helping her lay out
their meal, and sighed. Nuvel was too young for marriage, but she was
old enough to be promised.  This Dtaa seemed to be an intelligent man,
and a Herder's family lacked for nothing.  She would have Rald speak
to him when they lay to sleep. After the children were sleeping was
soon enough to find out if Dtaa had been to the compound recently.  It
was past time they met with a messenger.

---

Kalat handed Dtaa a wineskin, which he took, thanking her politely.
She watched him drink, admiring the grace of his motions.  He would
make a good mate for Nuvel.  The addition of his naturally sizeable
herd to her family's own was merely an added bonus. Someday, Kalat
promised herself, the Klevv would again wander past the mountains, once
the Federation miners were gone.  If not she and Rald them- selves,
then their children, or their children's children. This Dtaa was the
sort of man she wanted for her daughter: strong and intelligent as
well as prosperous.  Yes, she decided, it was quite likely that Dtaa
was the messenger they were to wait for.  She would ask Rald to stay
close to the sleeping den.

---

Sarah had cried out her grief until she slept in Riker's arms and woke
up screaming, her mind taking her back to the small, dark chamber
where the Romulans' torture had taken the life of her unborn daughter.
She remembered seeing the tiny, perfectly formed body being taken away
from her, though she'd held her arms out to hold it, just once.

*"Ohhh, Lieutenant, look what you've done...."*  The Romulan's voice
had been drenched in sarcasm, but the lips that formed the words had
been smiling with evil glee. What *she* had done?  Oh, no, she hadn't
been the one holding the disruptor, or the prod, or any of the other
devices.   They hadn't let her hold Stephanie, but they had made
certain Sarah saw her.

Cupped in the physician's large, square hands, the small, still form
was enough to break Sarah's vow of silence.  She hadn't said a word
all that long time, but the sight of Stephanie's body was enough to
provoke a soul-tearing wail as she struggled to reach out her arms.
One of the restraints had given way, she recalled, just before the
blackness had claimed her again.  *I will kill you for that, you
bloody bastard.*

She'd meant her silent promise then, and she meant it now, as the
sight of Stephanie's body, in the physician's hands, being taken away
from her even as she reached for it.

"Maybe if I'd asked..."

Riker let out a sigh of relief when Sarah spoke.  She'd been too quiet
for his liking since she'd come out of her nightmare, too close for
his liking to the silence she'd given her captors.  The pain in her
violet eyes as she looke up into his wounded him.  As soon as they
were out of this, he was going to make it his job to see laughter in
those eyes again, even if it turned out to be at his expense.  He
didn't care. Whatever it took, he'd give her that.

He'd wrapped his hand in her long braid while she slept, stroking the
shining rope, relishing the evidence that Sarah was alive.   He held
onto it now like a tether, holding him in reality, holding him back
from the blind rage that would be all too easy to let take over.
"Asked what?"

"Asked to hold her," she answered in a whisper.  "They took her before
I could. I... I thought... I only saw one other woman all that time.
She was there when..."  Sarah took a steadying breath. "When I
miscarried.  I thought she would understand, that if she were in my
situation, she'd want the same thing."  She paused again, the memory
of the Romulan woman's voice drifting into her mind.

*"This wasn't supposed to happen,"*  the woman had said, wiping the
tears from Sarah's eyes with a clean cloth.  There had been a clean
robe later, Sarah remembered, and the woman's hand had been gentle as
she'd brushed and plaited Sarah's long hair for her.  All the while,
though, there had been a coldness in her dark eyes, something at odds
with the actions, but in perfect harmony with all the rest she had
come to expect from Romulans.

"They were right in Academy, when they said Romulans were capable of
tenderness.  This woman was kind, almost.  Only almost.  She told me
once that I reminded her of her mother.  I thought she might..."
Sarah's voice trailed off into a sob.

"Brit, I'm sorry."  He couldn't think of much else to say to her that
would give comfort, so he held her as close as he could, occasionally
planting light kisses on top of her head.

"She didn't let me hold...Stephanie, but she did apologise.  She told
me that the men would be disciplined for interrogating me too
strongly.   I could even watch, if I wanted to."  And I wanted to.
"Willie, I don't understand it.  She would watch sometimes, make sure
they were doing their job, but she apologised when...Stephanie...
died."  Saying her child's name, especially connected to the fact of
her death, was hard.  She'd told herself it would be easier in time,
but so far it wasn't. It was, however, part of the process of living.
She'd best get used to it.

"You didn't mention a woman before," Riker observed. "What do you
remember about her? Was she old?  Young?"

Sarah tried to remember, calling back the shadowed images of that long
nightmare.  With a memory like hers, recalling faces was as easy as
breathing, unless they were faces she wanted to forget as much as she
did those.  "She was young, but other than that, I can't remember
much.  I'm certain that I'll be able to rattle off every tiny detail
once I'm on that bloody rest leave your counsellor insists I take.
Right now,"  she shook her head.  "It's not much.  She was blonde.
I'm certain of that.  I'd never seen a blonde Romulan before..." Before
Sarah could finish her thought, she felt Riker's body go limp beneath
her, heard a horrible gurgling sound come from his throat.  Bloody,
blasted, benighted dunfs!  She hadn't gotten it all.

Wrestling out from the arms that still held her, Sarah pulled Riker's
robe away from him with shaking fingers, yanking the undertunic away.
The wound was an angry, swollen red, capped with a sickly yellowish
white.  Sarah probed the white sac with her finger, feeling it give
only a little.  If it hardened any further, she'd be alone, the
wilderness of Philemon Three having claimed another.

*Calm, Cromwell.*

Slowly, she crawled over to the pack and took out the knife again,
willing her hands to steady.

---

to be continued in TAPESTRY THREE: SNOWFIRE